The First, Book 1: The Shattered Throne
by Tervendaja
Summary: He started as nothing. Boy from the kitchen, a slave. Picked from the gutter by a Dragon Priest, he grew powerful and rose among the ranks. He became one of them - a priest. But his anger and stubborness set him on a different path. In another time, there was a girl. Unimportant, meant to be married off. But her life, too, took to another direction. What will fate bring for them?
1. Chapter 1

**Hi. So I decided to try to publish this thing. First of all, the rating is due to bad language, sexual themes and violence. Nothing too explicit, I've read coarser things on this site. But best to be safe.**

 **To the story itself, I tried to reference as much of the official lore as I could. Elder Scrolls online is taken for official lore, so some things from there might make an appearance (for example enchanting via glyphs). Liberties were taken, though I believe not too experience breaking.**

 **The game and lore belong to Bethesda (and Zenimax, since I used lore from ESO). OCs are mine.**

 **English is not my native language, so please, forgive me if I made any mistakes. I tried to correct as many as I could. Otherwise, enjoy :)**

 **XXX**

 **Merethic Era, Solstheim**

"Völund! Where are you? We need to have the cake prepared as soon as possible," a woman's voice echoed through the spacious kitchen.

A little boy ran out of a pantry, hands full of colourful flowers.

The tall woman with black bun put her hands on her hips. "What is that, Völund?"

"Flowers," he stretched his small hands towards her, "to make the cake pretty for the lords, mama."

She smiled tiredly and ruffled his hair. "You are a good boy, Völund. But the likes of us must do what the lords say, and nothing else. They did not say they wanted flowers."

Völund's smile disappeared. "Yes, mama." Then the boy ran back to the pantry and returned without the flowers.

"Good boy. Now, take the wine and glasses and let's go."

XXX

Völund was standing in the shadow of a massive stone column, one of many holding the weight of the roof over the dining hall. The boy held a beautifully decorated silver pitcher and tried not to look at the lords.

Most of them were warriors and guardians. Very loud lot. But at the head of the carved table, there were three men sitting there. Völund stole a look their way sometimes. Those men spoke in hushed tones, remained very regal even through the most greasy of meals and their movements were elegant.

All three of them were dressed in robes, and the one sitting between the other two wore a mask.

The high dragon priest of the temple.

"Boy! More wine!" one of the warlords brayed. Völund hurried to him. But he did notice that the masked priest shot a quick glance at the warlord.

As he was pouring the wine, the warlord turned quickly to answer some slur aimed at him. His huge elbow hit Völund and the boy fell down. He hit the floor, as did the pitcher. It dented and wine splashed all over the floor.

Everyone turned to the warlord and Völund.

"You insolent brat!" the warlord screamed and jumped to his feet. "You dare to damage your lord's property?!"

The warlord kicked Völund. Then he reached to his belt for a sharp dagger.

"Enough!" a sharp voice followed by a faint echo rang through the dining hall. All heads turned.

The masked priest stood up and looked at the warlord. "The servant belongs to me. How dare _you_ damage my property?"

"But...lord Miraak…"

"The servant will be punished for his mistake. So will you, warlord Hrafni," Miraak pointed at him. "For overstepping your authority."

Guards, standing along the walls of the hall, moved forward. One of them grabbed Völund's hair and dragged him up. The boy tried to hold back his tears. His gaze found his mother. She shot him a quick terrified and saddened glance, but then kept her gaze lowered to the ground, as protocol required.

Warlord Hrafni left quietly with three of the guards. Miraak nodded with satisfaction, then waved his hand as he sat back into his seat covered in furs. The guard shoved Völund out of the hall.

XXX

He lied curled in his bedroll and cried silently. They whipped him, and hard. His mother tried to help him with some herbal poultice, but the hag who gave it to her probably didn't know anything about magical properties of herbs.

Völund kept sobbing long into the night. Why were they so cruel? It wasn't his fault….

XXX

"Watch closely, dear boy. What I'm going to teach you today is a mastercraft, a secret passed down in our family for a long time."

"What is it, nana?" For the first time since the whipping Völund perked up with interest.

The older woman, head cook in lord's kitchen, smiled warmly at her grandson. "How to make the finest atmoran chocolate. Come, come, we'll start at the beginning, with snow-wind beans."

XXX

Warlord Hrafni didn't forget about him. He haunted Völund for three years, making his life as hard as he could without lord Miraak noticing.

One day, when Völund, now nine years old, was working on a field, the warlord decided to show up.

Other workers cleared out as they knew what would happen.

Völund tightened his grip on his sickle.

Over the three past years, anger had been building up inside him. Now it started to bubble on the surface. Gods be damned, he won't let Hrafni do this anymore.

Hrafni stopped in front of Völund. "So what are you waiting for, filth? On your knees!"

"No."

"No? You think you have the right to speak to me?! Or deny me?!"

Völund growled and raised his sickle.

"See the brat?" Hrafni laughed. His guards snickered. "He thinks he can take me on with a sickle!"

The warlord reached for his weapon, a huge claymore. Völund darted forward. He slipped past Hrafni and cut him with the sickle. Hrafni grunted and looked down. Tiny stream of blood was travelling across his ribs, unprotected by the ceremonial armor he was wearing.

"You're dead," he growled. Völund raised his sickle again and bared his teeth.

He didn't manage to slip by this time. Hrafni caught him. Then he wriggled the sickle out of Völund's hand and threw it away. He lifted the boy and grinned as Völund tried to kick him.

"What are you going to do now, slave? Huh?"

Völund gritted his teeth. He felt like bursting. The anger, now freely flowing from his heart into his whole being, was unbearable. He decided to let it go. He opened his mouth and shrieked.

As he opened his mouth, he also felt something loosen from inside him. His hands, fingers clawing at Hrafni, suddenly lit with lightning. Small, but numerous bolts streamed onto the warlord. Hrafni screamed and threw Völund away.

The boy hit his back hard against a shed, but he scrawled back to his feet quickly. He bared his teeth again and raised his hand. Lightning still danced along his limbs and fingers.

Hrafni drew his claymore.

Völund roared like an angry bear and threw the lightning at the warlord. Small bolts joined into a stream of lightning. The crackling stream hit Hrafni's heart.

Völund kept screaming and the lightning kept streaming.

It didn't take long for Hrafni's corpse to turn into a scorched lump.

Hrafni's guards finally snapped out of horrified surprise. They drew their bows and aimed at Völund.

"Enough!" a voice followed by an echo barked. All heads turned. Everyone fell to their knees and bowed down. Everyone except Völund.

Völund looked up defiantly. Lord Miraak slowly levitated towards him, followed by a group of acolytes, walking on the ground. His blue robe embroidered with gold flapped around him majestically.

Lord Miraak stopped right in front of Völund. He didn't spare a single glance to Hrafni's corpse. Instead, he reached for Völund's chin and lifted it a bit. Völund could see Miraak's eyes through the slits in his mask.

He saw old eyes. Old, powerful eyes, surrounded by wrinkles, but still impressive and piercingly cold.

"Why did you kill him? Don't you know what happens to a servant who raises their hand against a warrior?"

"He wronged me," Völund answered solemnly.

"So you took matters into your hands."

Völund pursed his lips. "Yes."

"You have power, boy. Who are your parents?"

"My mother was a kitchen maid. I never knew my father."

"Was?"

"She was sent to the mines. The shaft she was working in collapsed."

"I see." Miraak released his grip on Völund and straightened up. "Leoferic!"

"Yes, lord?" a young acolyte stepped forward.

"Take him to the temple. Bathe him, clothe him and then take him to the Hall of Stories." Miraak looked back at Völund. "We'll see if he can be made into an acolyte."

XXX

 **4E 185, The Great Forest, county Chorrol**

"Auntie! Auntie Flavia!" a girl, about six years old and nicely plumb, rushed down the stairs and ran into open arms of an elegant woman dressed in fine red mage robes.

"Bernadette, dear! Come here," Flavia greeted the girl and embraced her. Then she took a step back to take a look at Bernadette.

The girl turned her peculiar gold eyes up to the woman and beamed. "I have finished the book about stars! Did you bring another one for me?"

"Such thirst for knowledge!" Flavia said proudly and ruffled Bernadette's hair. It was long, fine and dark brown, but few shades lighter than her eyes.

"Bernadette!" a boy's voice came from the other side of the entry hall. "It is not polite to beg your guests for gifts."

"Who never asks never gets to find out anything," Bernadette turned suddenly cold eyes to her oldest brother. "Don't tell me what to do, Tobias!"

The tall thin boy of fourteen, golden-eyed, pale and dressed in black, frowned even more. His hair was startlingly white. "Dear sister, you are a daughter of a noble house. You must act like it."

"Tobias," Flavia smiled warmly, "it's alright. I'm not offended and Bernadette knows that she won't ever offend me by asking for knowledge. She wouldn't act like this around other people, would she?" the magewoman turned to the girl and winked at her.

Tobias scoffed and walked away. Flavia and Bernadette could hear him calling out to a servant to announce Flavia's arrival.

Once he was out of sight, Flavia reached into her satchel and pulled a book out. Bernadette's eyes lit with interest and excitement. She remained silent in her excitement, however, as not to alert Tobias.

XXX

"Now, Flavia," the master of the house, lord Oswen, wiped his mouth, "you came unannounced and obviously in a hurry. Will you finally tell us what you need?"

Flavia looked at her brother and his wife. Lady Moriwa, a beautiful breton woman with gentle features, was smiling, her long white hair in disarray, flowers, leaves and twigs sticking out of it. Her strikingly gold eyes were, as was usual during past few years, lost somewhere where only she could thread. Lord Oswen, a lesser noble and the Huntmaster for the count of Chorrol, sturdy man with thick brown hair and dark brown eyes, looked at Flavia sternly over his hooked nose.

The magewoman sighed and set down the fork she had been playing with.

"I heard you had plans to engage Bernadette. That true?"

"Yes. What of it?"

"So young?"

Lord Oswen frowned even more. "What are you on about? She's perfectly suited for an engagement. The wedding will have to wait, for sure, but that is the common practice in noble families. Have you forgotten?"

Flavia narrowed her eyes. "No. And I never will."

"So, what? Have you brought engagement gifts? The deal is in the making, but not yet finished."

"No. I have come for Bernadette. I want her to come with me."

"What!?" lord Oswen almost growled. Flavia sighed. Her brother reminded her of the beasts he hunted more and more with each passing year. "Why?"

"I need an assistant."

"She's no mage! You can't possibly have any use for her. In fact, nobody has any use for her!" lord Oswen barked. "She's wild, her head is lost in the books you always bring, even though I forbade it, and she never gets any proper education into her little head! She's ripe for taming, and only a husband can do that. No," he sat back in his chair. "Why won't you take Francois instead? He's gifted. All my boys are."

"Proper education? Like what - sewing?" Flavia looked at Oswen coldly from under her lashes. "Yes, Francois is gifted, but that is not what I'm looking for. I need someone interested in what I'm doing. Someone with bright mind and thirst for knowledge. Wild ingenuity is also a good trait. Leave the boy to his books and numbers, he will be a good steward of the estate one day."

Flavia entwined her elegant fingers. "Bernadette, on the other hand, will never be of use to you particularly. Yes, you might strike some good match for her, but I highly doubt it, brother. Mind you, our family is noble, but at the lesser end of nobility. No one of your preferred choosing will ever agree to marry Bernadette. Let her come with me and utilise her own talents."

"What do you want her for?" lord Oswen narrowed his dark eyes at his sister.

"I want her to catalogue my findings. I also want her to make potions for me, so I could use the time I'd spend doing alchemy doing research instead. And I want her to look over anything that gets into my hands with me, because I might overlook something important. In the meantime, I would provide thorough education for her. The Synod have the vast libraries on almost every topic, as you surely know, and I have access."

"That all sounds very pretty, but how does it help me?"

Flavia pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "How big should her dowry be?"

Lord Oswen told her the sum.

"I'll give you double that amount."

XXX

"I'm going to miss you, mama," Bernadette wrapped her small arms around the lithe breton woman.

Lady Moriwa smiled at her daughter and hugged her back. Her eyes were present here and now.

"Do not worry, my little cub. I will send a jackdaw to watch over you," she whispered into Bernadette's ear. "If you ever miss me, just speak to the bird and I will hear it. I might even be present enough to speak back," she winked at the girl. Then her smile twitched into a mischievous grin. "Do look for the dragon, dear. To miss him would be awfully unfortunate."

Bernadette looked at her mother, confused. But lady Moriwa was clear of mind and serious about what she had said.

She kissed the girl's forehead and took off her necklace, made of wooden beads and carved bones. It also had a wooden carving of a bear, making it look like some kind of totem. She put it around Bernadette's neck and caressed her hair. "Here, a gift to remember me by. It will protect you, my little cub." Then she looked into her eyes and put both hands on her small shoulders. "Don't forget the Old one. He protects us."

8


	2. Chapter 2

**Merethic Era, Solstheim**

Völund was making his way to the chambers situated along the Hall of Stories. One of the priests living there (common priests, not dragon priests like lord Miraak), was appointed to teach the acolytes that day.

Völund was the first to arrive. He patiently found his place by the door and stood there.

Soon another acolyte arrived. She stopped next to him, silent. Völund glanced her way, then turned back to staring at the door. He smiled a little. A realization that he was taller than the girl made him happy, for some reason.

Leoferic was the third to come. When he saw Völund, he smiled and raised a hand in greeting. Völund looked at him and smiled as well, then turned back to the door.

Leoferic came to him and clasped his shoulder. "Don't be so serious all the time. They might mistake you for a priest."

"A priest? No one ever would mistake a long haired slave for a priest," a venomous voice chipped in. A tall acolyte, obviously older than others, just made his way to the waiting three. Two girls were following him.

"Just look at him. Such frivolous hair. And full of flowers. Ha. Stupid slave."

Leoferic scowled. He opened his mouth to say something, but Völund stopped him. "Ignore him."

"Why?"

"Because by giving him credit you only encourage him."

Leoferic made a face. "Alright, alright." Then he looked at Völund. "But why do you keep your hair so long? It's impractical…"

Völund shook his head. The thick, long braid, ending a bit below his shoulder blades, and smaller, thinner braids situated along his face followed the movement.

Leoferic shrugged. "Fine, don't tell me."

"It's because he wants to look pretty. Maybe he wants to seduce some boy, right? We never see 'im around the girls," the older acolyte snickered. "His staff of life must be trembling to dance the kipples. Or is it not, Leoferic? Maybe you would know. I heard him screaming the other night. You like it rough? Into other's asses?"

"You-" Leoferic gritted his teeth and began to raise his hand. But his movement was cut off by a metallic screeching of iron door being slowly opened.

An old priest looked out of the door. "You're too loud. You two," he pointed at Leoferic and the tall acolyte, "are left out of the lesson. Rest of you, come inside."

Völund gave him a reassuring look. Even though he was not supposed to, he would teach Leoferic what he missed later.

XXX

Völund was sitting by an open window in his tiny room later that evening. He was combing his long black hair.

He watched the setting sun and thoughts kept running through his head. He liked grooming himself. He also liked having long hair. To have at least some power over himself was exhilarating, even after six years. But he wanted more.

To get his freedom, he had to become powerful. More powerful than others.

He closed the window and lay in his bed. To get the best results, he needed to be rested.

XXX

"Are you still nipping over that old scroll?"

"Huh?" Völund twitched a bit. "Oh, yes. I need to memorize the burial rites."

Leoferic sat down next to his friend. "Lund, you keep staring into books and parchments and the great ones know what else all day long. Either that or you burn your magicka again and again and again while you hone your skills. You need a break."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do. Have you kissed a girl yet?"

"What?" Völund sounded annoyed.

"I'll take that as a no. Look, even though you are an acolyte, and many things are forbidden to us, you, just like everybody else, need to live a little. Or else your life won't have any meaning."

"I'm living a lot," Völund growled and returned to the scroll.

"You don't know what you're talking about. Hey, I know of one girl that can't move her eyes away from you. She's the new warrior trainee here. Come with me, just for today, and try to have some fun. If you don't like it, I'll leave you alone."

"You promise?"

"On my robes."

Völund carefully rolled the scroll. "Alright," he got up, "that is a serious promise. I'll go with you." He put the scroll back to its place and raised an index finger. "But only for today."

Leoferic grinned. "I wouldn't be so fast with judgement, Lund."

XXX

Völund woke up slowly. He stretched, then rubbed his eyes. His hair was a tangled mess, he was tired, but damn, it was worth it.

He got up and began the normal morning routine. He couldn't get the memories out of his head, though. Her sweet kisses. The feeling of her skin on his. The feeling of _her_. He shook his head. He needed to concentrate, so he pushed all those pleasant memories away while he prepared himself. When he left his room, only determination remained in his mind.

Lord Miraak sent his acolytes to escort a rather large company of warriors, headed for a dwemer city situated not far from the temple. The elves were far too insolent and kept trying to drive the Atmorans out of Solstheim. Lately they started sending their smaller machines to steal crops. Lord Miraak decided that it was time for retaliation.

Völund arrived to the courtyard. Two priests were waiting there silently, so he bowed his head to them and stopped beside them. Supervision, probably.

Soon the other five acolytes arrived. They took their places in vicinity of the priests, standing silently. The only disturbance of this quiet majesty was Leoferic's wink aimed at Völund.

Not long after the acolytes assembled, a warlord and his company marched on the courtyard. The older of the priests walked over to the warlord. They spoke for a while, then the priest stretched his hand out and began reciting a mantra of power to bless the warlord.

Six acolytes and the other priest did the same. This was a ritual devised by Ahzidal, one that he used to empower Ysgramor and his Companions when they sought vengeance for the massacre at Saarthal.

The air tethered and glistened with magicka. Völund shivered in anticipation.

XXX

A ball of fire darted towards a group of warriors. Völund raised his free hand. A ward rose up to his command. The ball hit the ward. Fire splashed everywhere.

His heart was beating wildly. His teeth bared in a wide grin. Power running through his fingers.

Völund was thrilled.

Soon the battle was over. The company of warriors, blessed and supported by the two priests and six acolytes made a quick work of the few dwemer automatons and their masters. As unharmed warriors proceeded to destroy the base, Völund and the others turned to healing.

Völund called upon the magic of the light and watched his hands fire up with warm golden glow.

XXX

The assault continued. For several days now, the Atmorans were trying to get inside a small dwemer fortress. But the gate was shut tight.

"FUS RO DAH!" the warlord shouted.

A wave of energy hit the mechanical gate. It creaked, but didn't move. Not even a little bit.

The priests and the warlord withdrew to counsel after another fruitless attempt. Not even the power of the priests, sent in as a telekinetic pull, was able to open or break the gate.

Völund walked over to the metal gate and examined it curiously.

The golden metal wasn't even dented. It glistened slightly. Even though it was just a gate, it was decorated by elaborate geometric ornaments. And, somewhere behind this mass of metal, Völund could hear….humming?

He raised his hand and hissed when the cold air blew on his hips, left uncovered by that idiotic robe. The others may not have noticed the biting cold, but he did. He shuddered and put his palm on the gate.

It was cold. But only on the outside…he moved closer to one edge of the gate, hand sliding over the metal.

There….it was a bit warmer on the other side, closer to the rock. He could feel it when he turned his focus on the part of magicka related to light, therefore heat as well. There must have been something on the other side, something that powered the gate. If only he knew what, or what element was it tied to...

He cursed under his breath. Ahzidal did steal a great deal of knowledge from the elves, any elves, but he didn't think that learning something about dwemer machinery was useful. Fool.

"What are you doing?!" someone hissed into his ear. Völund jumped, startled. He went so deep into the magical energies that he forgot to watch the world around him.

"Lund! They are staring at you," Leoferic shook his shoulder, worried look in his eyes.

Völund looked over his shoulder. The priests and the warlord were indeed watching him, perhaps even with confused interest. The priests exchanged a nod and then walked over to the acolytes.

Both acolytes bowed their heads. When they straightened up, they found out that the priests were measuring Völund with great interest.

One of the priests narrowed his eyes. "What was it you felt, acolyte?"

Völund looked at the priest directly, an act of defiance that made Leoferic close his eyes. "Heat. The gate is warmer on the other side. There must be something powering it."

"And you think we could find the source of the power and damage it?"

"Yes."

"Get to it."

Völund put his hand back on the gate and closed his eyes. It took him a while to get back to a focused state, but when he did, he noticed another interesting fact.

There was _electricity_ crackling somewhere inside the mountain. That was good, because the element of air came to him with much bigger ease than the other three. He tried to reach for the lightning, pulsing somewhere in the depth beyond the gate.

There….but there was something else as well. Water….hot water. Steam. Both the lightning and steam were probably what kept the gate functioning. Damnations.

He pulled back into his own mind.

Once he did, he staggered and would have fallen on the ground had Leoferic not caught him.

"Well?" one of the priests raised an eyebrow at Völund.

"I...I need someone who has close to the element of water to aid me," he breathed out. Great ones, how tired he suddenly felt!

"Can't you do it on your own?" the other priest scowled. What Völund was asking for was a dangerous thing - creation of a mental bond. Magic of the mind was not favoured among the priesthood. One could say it was scorned.

"No."

"Very well," the priest sighed. "Let us form a bond and open that blasted gate." He grabbed Völund's head into his long fingers and barged inside the acolyte's head.

Völund couldn't help but scream in pain. He quickly bit his lip and put his hand on the cold surface of the gate. The sooner it opens, the better.

He faintly felt blood dripping down his chin.

There were more important things at hand than his discomfort. He reached for the lightning, entombed somehow in the insides of the dwemer gate. It pulsed. Twirled and crackled. It needed to go free. To do that, the steam had to flow freely as well.

The priest saw his line of thought and complied. Völund felt his presence passing through him, reaching for the water.

XXX

"Commander!" a dwemer soldier halted next to an old, fat man with a long, braided beard.

"What?" the scientist barked in annoyance.

"The men….the gate is moving!"

"How?" the commander gaped. His hands let go of the papers he had been holding. The sheets scattered, slowly fluttering down to the ground.

"The steam tubes are boiling with power, as are the wires, sir, and the technicians cannot do anything about it!"

"The damned idiots must have got inside our systems. But how?! Well, what are you standing here for? Load the ballistae! Start the spheres and send the spiders. Hold them while I go wake the centurions."

The soldier hurried away.

XXX

The giant metallic bars, holding the gate closed, began to move. Steam hissed. The tubes holding it trembled. A small group of soldiers was hiding behind the animunculi.

They heard the terrible creaking of the gate. The hiss of scalding steam and horrifying pounding in the tubes.

Also the terrible, oh so barbaric, roar-like chanting of the Atmorans outside.

Screech.

The bars slowly slid into their sockets in the mountain.

For a second, the world was silent.

"FUS RO DAH!"

The gate flew open. The metal hit the stone with a loud thud.

Then the barbarians all roared in unison, like some gigantic beast from the depths of the ocean, and flooded inside like a river.

XXX

Völund lost it. Once the gate opened, his body gave out. As if the time was slowed, he saw the warriors rush past him in strangely slowed motion. He realized that he was falling down, but couldn't do a thing about it.

He saw the priest stumble. But the old man wouldn't fall. Leoferic stretched his arms towards him.

Völund closed his eyes. No one will catch _him_ , that was for sure. The warriors will probably trample him to death. Great.

But then, suddenly, someone stopped his fall. Völund heard a grunt and felt his savior tremble under a heavy hit. But the man didn't let Völund go. Instead he bent down, grabbed his legs and, with another loud grunt, lifted the acolyte up.

Völund forced himself to open his eyes. He felt as if he was floating in honey, but his curiosity got the better of him.

He saw a young man, a bit older than himself, and definitely a warrior. He had a head full of bright red hair, his face hid in a thick beard of the same fox-like colour. His right eye was blankly white, but the other shone with the most brilliant hues of icy blue.

Völund blacked out a moment after that, but he knew he would be haunted by that enchanting blue eye.

XXX

Someone shook his shoulder. At first he thought it only a sensation conjured up by his tired mind, but then it happened again.

"Lund!"

He moaned and twitched.

"That's it, wake up!"

The voice was familiar. And it sounded desperate. He forced his eyes to open.

Leoferic was fixating his face. Once Völund managed to open his eyes, the other acolyte lit up. "Yes! Hurry, we need your help!"

"What? What happened?" Völund tried to get up. He immediately regretted that, as his head began to throb. He let out a groan.

Leoferic grabbed his arms and pulled him up. "You opened the gate. You passed out. Others ran inside, some warrior carried you here, to safety. All of ours fought with the metal things, and with the few soldiers there. Looked good. But then those huge metal men came! Out of nowhere! One of the priests is dead, we have no more magicka, and our warriors are falling back."

Völund leaned into his friend. "And what am I supposed to do with it?" he huffed.

Leoferic had no answer.

But he still dragged Völund towards the turmoil of the fight.

There were dead bodies scattered on the ground ahead of them. Völund gulped. So many lives lost so senselessly. He scowled. It could have been prevented if only lord Miraak led the assault himself.

"Wait," he grasped onto Leoferic's robe. He noticed that a dying priest was gasping for breath on the ground. Somebody probably carried him back here, but there was nobody to save his life.

Völund didn't intend to change that. He reached for the priest's satchel and for his staff, laid neatly beside him. The man tried to stop him, but Völund shook his weak hand off. He stepped back and looked through the satchel. Then he pulled a bottle of shimmering blue liquid out of the satchel and drank its contents.

He shivered with disgust. The potion tasted terrible, but it was necessary for him to drink it. He tightened his grip on the carved dragon staff and followed Leoferic grimly towards the turmoil.

Only two more acolytes were standing. They mostly tried to keep magical attacks diverted from the warriors who were fighting with hulking metal men. Three of the machines were already destroyed, but there were more inside the mountain.

Völund stopped and looked over the battlefield. Not much was left of their company. A group of warriors was still fighting, led by the warlord and the young man with the mane of fox red hair. The metal men were slowly pushing the remaining Atmorans out of the entrance hall.

Völund narrowed his eyes. There was a fat, bearded man far behind the metal men. Völund's eyes darted across the entry hall, desperately looking for some way how to gain the upper hand.

"Lund? We need to go. They need shielding!" Leoferic poked him.

"No. We need…" Völund trailed off. They needed a strategy. From what he could see, the metal men had exposed backs…

And then he noticed it. "We need that!"

"What?"

"See the pipes? Inside the hall? They're overloaded. We must have damaged the system while we were opening the gate. We need to get the metal men closer to the pipes."

"How is that going to help us?" Leoferic threw his arms up.

"It's full of steam. And underneath it, lightning. If we break it…"

"It hits the clankers?"

"Exactly." Völund readjusted his fingers on the staff. "And maybe we could try to direct it. You are good with water, aren't you?"

"Not that much," Leoferic answered as they began running towards the battle.

"Just try, alright? Envelop the metal men and that fat little elf in the back in water. At least a bit."

Leoferic pursed his lips.

They stopped on a rock not far from the fighting. "Shouldn't we tell the warlord?"

"How?" Völund sieved through his teeth. He raised the staff. "Just do what I said!"

They both called upon what was left of their magicka reservoirs. Leoferic had an easier task. The pipes were soon on the verge of bursting and a thin stream of water wound through the air, drenching most of the metal men.

Völund, however, could not get to the lightning so easily. He gritted his teeth.

"I can't hold it anymore!" Leoferic howled. He lowered his hands with a last burst of power. The pipes cracked and broke down. Steam burst out of the pipes. The winding streams of water fluttered.

Völund cursed. He raised the staff and sent lightning into the scalding steam. The magicka reacted wildly. The hissing stream of steam bursted with electricity. Sizzling bolts jumped right onto the water. Völund poured more magicka into it.

XXX

Electricity was sizzling on wires ripped out of the walls.

The battle was over, for now. The metal men, whose powering crystals were exposed on their backs, did not withstand such wild burst of magic.

Luckily, the warlord and the fox warrior made it out in time.

Leoferic quickly ran to offer what healing he could, while Völund slowly walked over to the warlord, heaving among the rest of the warriors.

"Couldn't you have done that earlier?" he barked at Völund. The acolyte narrowed his amber eyes.

"Send a runner to lord Miraak," he ordered calmly.

"What? You have no-"

Völund sent a blast of lightning into the warlord's chest. The man grunted in pain. Völund hit him with a lightning again, and again, and again, up until the man fell to his knees.

"Send a runner to lord Miraak," Völund repeated. "We need reinforcements." While the warlord grumpily scrambled to his feet and went to find his fastest runner, Völund turned to the gathered warriors. "You," he motioned with the staff to a relatively unharmed group of warriors, "keep watch. Build some barricades out of the clankers once the metal cools down. That gate over there could open at any moment."

Then he turned to another group. "You take care of the wounded. Make a safe place for them."

Relying on the staff, he walked to the two other surviving acolytes. "How's your magicka?"

"Depleted."

"Well, then find the corpses of the priests and make use of the supplies they carried. Move!" he ordered sharply when they hesitated. The acolyte that used to make fun of him and torment him, opened his mouth to say something.

Völund hit him with the staff and released another dose of lightning. "Do as I said."

The acolyte whimpered and ran after the other one.

Völund watched them leave. Then he sighed and made his way towards the place where the wounded were being placed. He still had some magicka left.

XXX

 **4E 193, The Imperial City**

Bernadette was sitting in a library. THE library. She loved the library of the Arcane University. Even though almost everyone in the University mocked her, because she had no magic.

But so many books in one place!

Spectacular.

She also managed to get access to the dwemer ornery, repaired by the Hero of Kvatch himself. What a marvel.

She tucked her dark hair behind her ear and looked into the open book in front of her more closely. It was a book about astronomy. Stars, Moons and the Sun, their alignations and their connection to magicka.

The author of the book laid down an interesting theory. She was talking about how ancient elven civilisations had different systems of magicka classification, and how they gathered power from the stars...and that starlight, along with natural ley lines of Nirn could be used to empower certain stones, which then could be used as runestones! To create glyphs!

According to the author, glyphs were used to enchant things before the era of soul stones. The practice died out after someone discovered that using soul stones was easier and faster then gathering energy into a runestone and then transforming it into a glyph and then inscribing said glyph into an item.

On the other hand, even non-mages could use glyphs.

Bernadette wanted to know about everything non-mages could do to compete with the mages.

So far she learnt to scribe magic scrolls and to use her knowledge of alchemy to create various coatings, elemental oils, even bombs, or specific elixirs.

"Bernadette? Dear, are you there?"

She perked up. "I'm here, auntie."

"Ah, good." The elegant magewoman with strands of grey in her dark hair made her way to the girl. Flavia sat down next to Bernadette and looked at the open books lying on the table with interest.

"Astronomy?" she smiled. "I see that your fascination with the sky remains. That is good, my girl," she squeezed Bernadette's shoulder.

The girl smiled, her eyes beaming with joy.

"But you should take a break, dear," Flavia noted. "The circles under your eyes have their own circles."

"I can rest after I finish my notes. And speaking of notes," she reached for a bundle of papers neatly packed in a leather folder, "I have the account of our latest expedition."

Flavia took the folder. "Good. Any luck finding translations of the carvings we found?"

Bernadette shook her head. "No. I suspect we'd have to climb to High Hrothgar and bang on the door of the monastery there. If what people say is true, that is. But I doubt their door would open for us." She rubbed her chin. "Though, I do recall master librarian mentioning few historians who can, vaguely, translate the ancient language. But all of them are out of our reach. The closest would be some man from Solitude who went to Solstheim and no one has heard of him since then."

"A shame," Flavia mumbled as she went through the notes.

"Auntie?" Bernadette inquired after a while.

"Yes, dear?"

"Why did you pick the Dragon Cult as your focus of study?"

Flavia looked up from the notes. She sighed, put them back into the folder and placed it on the table.

"First and foremost because I had to go to Skyrim to study the Cult and that ensured a comfortable distance from my husband. And your father. Then I found out how little is known about them, since the ruins are infested with draugr, who are an enormous mystery themselves, and how interesting the Cult actually is."

"Do you think the dragons were real? Or just some sort of….metaphor?"

Flavia laughed. "Dear, if I had a septim every time someone asked me that, I'd be even richer than I am now. Yes, they were real. The good jarl of Whiterun let me take a thorough look at that skull hanging in his hall, and I had an interesting chat with that young court mage there. The beasts were pretty real."

She folded her arms and rested back in her chair. "Honestly, I don't know why people think dragons were, or maybe are, just a myth. There are burial mounds known to contain dead dragons. One of the beasts was even protected by a king of Daggerfall for a time, I think."

"Perhaps simple minds find it hard to believe," Bernadette smiled. "Some people have trouble with understanding basic magic and see simple tricks as the highest sorcery."

"Very true." Flavia got up from the chair and took the bundle of notes. "Off to bed with you, young lady. You need sleep."

"But-"

"No buts," Flavia raised a finger.

XXX

"Now, dear, do put that nice green scarf on. I would like you to look presentable."

"Why?" Bernadette bit down on a sweetroll.

"I want to introduce you to someone. Claudia?" Flavia called out to her maid.

Nice looking plumb imperial woman in her early thirties stepped out of the kitchen. "Yes, madam?"

"Could you please make her look….presentable? At least comb her hair?" Flavia looked at Bernadette with despair. She usually didn't care for her niece's disheveled looks, but…

"What is this? Are you trying to sell me to some gentleman, auntie?" Bernadette shot a suspicious look to the magewoman as Claudia pulled a comb out of her dress and began to work on Bernadette's hair.

"Not in the slightest, dear. I only do not want the master scribe to think you cannot take care of yourself."

"But I can't."

"True. Claudia? Find some time to teach her, please."

XXX

Bernadette sat down by the window in her room and opened it. The evening air was warm and smelled nice.

Soon a jackdaw flew in. It circled Bernadette once, then perched on her shoulder.

"Hi," Bernadette scratched its neck gently. The bird moved slightly closer.

"Mama?" Bernadette inquired after a while. "Are you well? I hope you are. I hope father isn't too much of a nuisance for you." She sighed. "I had an interesting day. Auntie took me to a secret meeting - apparently there is something called the Circle of Scribes. But don't tell anyone. It's secret. It's a gathering of people like me. Scholars with not a drop of magic in their hands. It's a group the emperor himself founded, because he wanted to have someone working on...on anything to be used, really. Against elves, probably, to not be dependable on magic in warfare or...or probably in any aspect of life. Because they do magic better by nature."

She rubbed her chin. "The emperor funds the Circle, and we get to do things! There is a scholar who's concentrated on the dwemer, I watched her work with the machines and let me tell you, I wish I could do what she does. And then there is a man who can build bombs. No magic involved, just...alchemy."

She sighed happily. "Research on everything you could think about. Without magic. Only people working together, using their minds. Lovely. Aunt Flavia is an honorary exception, and one of several funders. She introduced me to the Master Scribe, and he decided to accept me into the Circle! So I get to learn all I ever wanted from the best. Mama, I'm so excited!"

The jackdaw turned its silvery bead-like eyes on Bernadette and tilted its head.

XXX

"So, girl, madam Sorcelli said you liked tinkering. Come, come, we'll see about that," a surprisingly plumb, but muscled, bosmer woman was the first to notice Bernadette, who has just entered a small reading parlour where the Scribes usually gathered. She grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her out of the library. The lady then led Bernadette through the university, into a small, battered building.

Inside it was an amazing workshop, filled with designs, dwemer clutter, books, strange metal parts, crossbows and many, many more things.

Bernadette's jaw dropped.

"You like it, huh?" the woman grinned. "And to think Amroth wanted to steal you first for his pile of astronomic rubble."

"Astronomy?" Bernadette perked up.

"I'm Ferean," the woman shook Bernadette's hand quickly. Then she rubbed her hands together energetically. "So, to see if you're good for something and whether or not I might want you as an apprentice, let's work on _that_ ," Ferean pointed at something looking like a crossbow in construction.

Bernadette smiled. "Yes, ma'am."

This was going to be even better than Octavian's combat training.

15


	3. Chapter 3

**Merethic Era, Solstheim**

Völund readjusted his lean fingers on the strangely familiar wood of his very own priestly staff.

Lord Miraak had taken him under supervision for three months and then gave him a staff. And a settlement to take care of, as was the custom. New priests had to experience leadership and if they were good leaders, they could gain the privilege of mastering the thu'um.

He received a small agrarian settlement close to the shore which previously belonged to one of the priests that perished during the assault.

He stopped under the stairs leading to the hall and a shrine to gods that were to become his home. His personal guards stopped beside him.

Gormlaith, the golden haired trainee he had bedded few times, was one of the four he received. The fox haired warrior with one eye, Hakon, was there as well. The other two were greying men, glowering at the world.

A small crowd gathered to have a look at their new handler. Völund noticed that they were surprised to find such a young man carrying a priest's staff. He also noticed that, in their confusion, they kept looking for assurance to an old woman, standing a bit aside the crowd. He made sure to remember her face and then climbed the stairs.

XXX

The steward was a useless dotard who knew nothing about the settlement and its matters. Völund sent him away, back to his family down in the village. Then he decided to explore the hall.

It was very large and empty, too much for his tastes.

Perhaps he could do something to fill it with people...he needed to leave the round room, built for audiences and formal meals, free, but everything else except his bedroom could be used. The library would be an exception as well, of course.

"Hakon?" he rose from the big, carved seat covered with thick bear furs.

"Yes, lord?"

"Have you seen any spare boots around here?"

The warrior blinked. That was an unexpected question. "I….believe there were some left in the master bedroom, lord. Maybe after the previous owner."

Völund tapped the wood of his staff. "They'll have to do, for now." He marched out of the round hall.

Hakon shook his head and hurried after the young priest.

Once they found a pair of boots that fit well enough for Völund to move comfortably, he turned to the wardrobe. There he found a plain blue robe that caught his interest.

"Perfect," he muttered. He began undoing the scales, holding his own blue and gold robes together. Then he stopped and shot Hakon a look. "Out, if you please. I'm sure that no one will try to kill me while I change."

Once Hakon closed the door. Völund took his robes off. He really needed something to cover his hips, he already felt throbbing pain in his throat. He put the plain robe on and then the ceremonial blue and gold. Better. Now the boots.

Finally feeling warm, he marched out of the door. "Let's meet that old woman," he muttered to himself. Hakon, who evidently decided to take on the role of his housecarl, went with him, shaking his head in disbelief.

XXX

"Are you serious, lord?"

Angma, the old woman and obviously the leader the village looked up to, could not believe her ears.

"Yes, I am," Völund answered.

"But...lord, I thought that we were supposed to work as much as we can."

"You are. Nothing changed about that."

Angma narrowed her eyes. "Then why do you want us to have...an hour for food and rest during the work hours? And why do you want to shorten them?"

"Because I found out that content and rested people work better," Völund raised an eyebrow at her. "And I want only the best."

Angma muttered something under her breath. She did not know what to make of the priest. Still not fully a man, yet sounding more reasonable than many she has met. If he was not teasing her, though.

"Seek no trap behind it. Rules haven't changed. Should anyone shy from their duties, they will be punished," Völund gave Angma a stern look. "The tribute must be paid." After a pause, he added quietly: "And the granaries need to be filled for winter."

Angma shot him a perplexed look. What was that supposed to mean?

He gathered his composure soon enough. "Introduce me to the masters of this village. I need to know about the soil here, about what grows here, about the layout of the land and the dangers."

XXX

"Is there no other shrine?" Völund mused after finishing his prayers. His eyes lingered on the dragon stone, the tallest among the stones devoted to the gods.

"No, lord," Hakon answered. "Everyone comes up here to pay their respects."

Völund rose up from the ground and grabbed his staff. "What about those that live further from the settlement? Hunters and foresters?"

"I don't know, lord."

Völund headed out of the sacred place. "We need to change that. The gods must not be forgotten."

"What do you intend to do, lord?" Hakon lenghtened his stride to catch up with the priest. He was a head taller than Völund, who was quite small for an Atmoran. His figure was also leaner than that of a common Atmoran, but Hakon didn't doubt that the priest was strong, at least as much as his small body allowed him to be. He once fought a friendly duel with a member of the priesthood and the old man had handed the warrior his behind at the tip of his dragon carved staff.

Völund glanced over his shoulder. "I'm going to build another shrine."

Hakon shook his head. He began to feel accustomed to this movement, as the priest always managed to come up with something unexpected.

XXX

"Shall we take horses, lord?" Hakon asked. Völund stopped his stride. Hakon narrowed his eyes. Did the priest's shoulders tense?

"No. I prefer walking," he answered.

Hakon shrugged and followed the priest. Another mystery. Every other priest he had met preferred to float.

They made their way through the village and out to the fields. People stopped working as they walked by to bow to Völund.

Once they left the fields, Völund seemed to relax. He took a deep breath and slowed down a bit. Soon he bent to pick a flower he noticed in the grass. Then he dug up a root, later he stopped to carefully pluck young leaves off of a plant.

Soon the satchel he was carrying everywhere with him was full of various alchemical ingredients.

Hakon spotted a butterfly. A thought ran through his mind and he carefully glanced at the priest, so he wouldn't notice that he was being watched.

Völund registered the butterfly few moments later. He smiled and moved closer to the colourful creature. Then he hurtled forward and caught it.

Hakon had to stifle a laugh.

Völund probably noticed that, as he twitched, but otherwise didn't react. He looked at the butterfly he held in his hands carefully, and examined the creature. Then he opened the cage made up by his fingers.

The butterfly remained still for few moments, then it flapped its wings and flew away. Völund smiled and resumed walking.

Hakon, perplexed again, caught up with him after a while.

"Lord?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you let it go?"

"Why kill it?"

"I thought you wanted to use it in alchemy."

"You thought wrong," Völund concluded. "I wanted to see what insects live here. It gives me an image of what plants I can expect to find around here." He scratched his chin. "While we're talking about alchemy...I want to create a laboratory inside my hall. Once we return, find me someone who could arrange for it to be done."

XXX

They circled around the area for a week, searching for a perfect place for the new shrine. But Völund was drawn to a huge standing stone with a sun engraved into it.

One day, just after Hakon finally sent someone to the main Temple to ask for the equipment for the laboratory Völund wanted, the priest decided to meet Angma again.

"Tell me, what purpose does the sun stone have?" he asked the woman.

"Oh, that is an old place of power. It is a guardian stone, gathering the essence of light. People sometimes go pray there, in hopes that the gods will hear them out."

Völund scratched his cheek. He was trying to grow a beard. Not very successfully. "Would it be appreciated if people had shrines to the gods in the vicinity of the sun stone?"

"I think it would, lord," the woman answered carefully. People desperately wished for more shrines, but there was no one to build them. Should he call people off the fields, they won't manage to harvest as much as they should...

"Thank you for your time," Völund bowed his head a bit in respect. Angma's eyes widened, as did Hakon's.

Völund marched out of the hut.

XXX

He spent a month looking for suitable stones and then moving them to the sun stone with magic. Luckily air was the element closest to him, so telekinesis was easier for him than for most.

If he was not searching for the stones or taking care of business, he spent his free time carving the sacred animals out of bone and wood, to get the idea of how should they look.

XXX

"Lord?"

"Yes, Hakon?"

"Why are we here again?"

"Don't you enjoy our walks?" Völund's lips twitched in a smile. "Look," he motioned for the warrior to come closer and pointed forward. "Do you see that tree?"

Hakon moved closer and bent down a bit to have the same line of sight as Völund. "Yes, what of it?"

"Look…" Völund closed in to Hakon, so their cheeks were touching, "...that way."

Hakon tried not to think about how close they were in that moment. He followed Völund's lean, yet finely muscled arm and his pointing finger. He narrowed his eyes. There was something in the branches…

"An owl?" his eyebrows went up.

"Yes. And it seems that the tree is home to a family of them," Völund smiled.

XXX

Hakon looked at the small stones put together into a ritual heap with care. Völund had put carved bones around it as well, along with a small wooden carving of an owl.

XXX

"I have found another sacred site, Angma. This time to Jhunal. I built a small shrine there. Come, take your daughter and her sons. I will show you, so you can tell others."

XXX

"Finally! All stones are here. And placed as they should be," Völund folded his arms on his chest and looked around with satisfaction.

Hakon let out a breath. At last, Völund was satisfied. That meant no more running around looking for stones. Hakon hated it.

XXX

Völund spent a long period of time with engraving the stones. It was earth magic, one he was not very good at, but he was determined not to use any of his subjects, as he needed to pay what his predecessor owed to the Temple and the granaries were not as full as he'd like.

It helped that he could apply his experience with carving things out of wood. A hobby he picked up as a boy, put away during his studies and now remembered that he could do it.

Once finished, he proudly looked at the result.

Hakon, standing a bit behind him, couldn't help but admire the priest.

XXX

During autumn, various beasts, desperate to fill their bellies for one last time, came out of the forests and tried to steal harvest or farm animals.

Usually the hunters managed to deal with them, but they could not drive all the beasts away (or hunt them down) this year.

Völund was reading through a parchment. His eyes darted from side to side, sometimes they stopped and a frown appeared on his face.

Hakon, sure that his lord was focused on other matters, watched his features. He scanned every detail with his one good eye and found Völund's frowns maddeningly captivating.

When Völund's eyes stopped darting again and he tugged at one of his shorter braids, Hakon had to bite his lower lip.

"Hakon?"

"Yes, lord?"

"Bring Gormlaith."

Hakon's heart skipped a beat.

Then he bowed his head and went to find his sister. He only hoped that Völund didn't want to bed her again. Not that he would mind, no, not at all, but...his sister was not one to stay attached to a man for long. Yes, that was the reason of his reluctance. It wasn't good to anger a priest, and should she say no…

Völund had other ideas, though.

"Gormlaith. I heard that you are the most bloodthirsty of my warriors here," he intertwined his elegant fingers and rested his chin on them.

"Not a warrior yet, lord," she said, frustration clear in her voice. "But I am the best, you can count on that."

"We'll see," Völund narrowed his eyes. "There are extremely aggressive beasts bothering the Cold-Winter homestead. Take care of them."

Gormlaith's eyes lit up. "Yes, lord. You won't be disappointed."

"If I will, then you will be too," he said with a hint of threat.

XXX

Gormlaith was gone for quite some time now. Hakon kept wondering if his sister managed to survive the fight.

One morning, haunted by a desire he had no explanation for, he got up early and wandered the hall. Finally he decided to go for a breakfast. Earlier than usual, but the kitchen maids were surely working already.

They were, but so was someone else. Hakon was surprised to find Völund, of all people, in the kitchen. And it seemed that he was there often, since the maids were not in the slightest phased by his presence.

He was stirring something on one of the stoves. But before he could go to have a look at what it was, Hakon had to back away from the kitchen. The cook noticed him and neared him with her ladle and a threatening look.

"Wait, please!" Hakon stopped the cook once she chased him out of her kitchen. "What is the lord doing there?"

She pierced him with her eyes, but then she concluded that lord's housecarl had right to know.

"The lord likes to prepare his own breakfast. None of us can do it the way he likes it, so he does it himself."

"Every morning?" Hakon marveled.

"Yes. What kind of housecarl are you?" the woman scoffed at him. Then she closed the door right before his nose.

XXX

They went around the settlement later that day. Völund had gotten a report that people are working less because they often get sick at this time of year, so he got up and went around healing everyone who needed it.

He wanted to visit even the homesteads further away from his hall.

"Lord, we have to take the horses," Hakon pleaded.

Völund gave him a sharp look.

"You need to keep as much energy for yourself as you can, lord," Hakon explained. "If you want to heal as many people as possible and remain standing."

Völund scowled. "You worry too much. I can withstand a lot, if you've forgotten."

Hakon didn't forget about the assault. He noticed the lean acolyte even before he had radiated power and broke the gate open. But, by the gods, was the man magnificent when he did that!

He shook his head. "I haven't, lord. But everyone has their limits. I will follow your orders, have no doubt. No horses. Should you fall, I will carry you myself."

Völund gave him a pointed look and his lips twitched. Hakon wondered why he had said the last sentence. But it was too late to take it back.

"I don't doubt that," Völund finally said. "Very well, have it your way. Saddle the horses."

Did the priest sound terrified?

XXX

Völund shot a distrusting look at the saddled horse. It was a rather round fjord mare, a gentle, timid animal.

The horse looked back at him.

"Come now, lord, mount it," Hakon, holding the reins, mumbled with a hint of annoyance in his voice. Völund has neared the horse several times already, but he always backed away.

"Maybe we could go on foot..." Völund trailed off and took another step away from the mare.

Hakon groaned. Why on Nirn was Völund, who could disperse an army of metal men with lightning, afraid of a horse?

The warrior huffed, went to the priest, grabbed him by the shoulder, practically dragged him to the horse and put him on its back, all the while ignoring Völund's growing terror.

XXX

They travelled through all of their territory. It took them days and Hakon could see that the cold, discomfort of the saddle and the constant use of magicka were taking their toll on Völund. He was paler than usual, tired and shivering all the time.

At last they made their way to the Cold-Winter homestead.

While Völund was working his magic, Hakon discreetly asked about Gormlaith.

"The blonde warrior? She killed the most aggressive beasts. A spriggan, twisted and darkened, among them. Then she heard someone mention an ice troll and went after it."

"When did she leave?"

"This morning."

Hakon groaned. Gormlaith was unbelievable. Völund won't be pleased that she overstepped her orders.

"Lord!" a voice filled with fear yelped.

Hakon leapt to his feet and hurried to the other room. The sick whom Völund had healed were lying in their beds. Two women, an old one and a young girl, were fussing around Völund.

The priest had fainted. Hakon ran to him and knelt down.

"Lord?" he took his hand. It was unpleasantly cold. "Lord!"

When he didn't get a response, he turned to the master of the homestead. "Do you have a room we might use?"

The man bowed. "Of course, take my bedroom."

Hakon nodded and carefully lifted Völund from the ground. "Lead the way."

XXX

Once they warmed him up and after he rested a bit, Völund woke up. Hakon was quick to offer him a mug of froststar mint tea, meant to warm him up and bolster his natural magicka regeneration.

"Such a caring housecarl," Völund remarked when he accepted the mug. He sniffed and his eyebrows went up. "My favourite?"

Hakon shrugged his shoulders. Völund gave him a thoughtful look, then sipped out of the mug carefully. His amber eyes didn't leave Hakon's for a single moment.

XXX

Gormlaith returned in the morning, adorned with a snow troll pelt. Against Hakon's expectations, Völund wasn't angry. He was thoughtful, but not angry. He fulfilled Hakon's expectations in a different matter, though. The man could be insanely difficult to deal with.

"Lord, we should rest here for at least another day," Hakon pleaded.

"I can rest at home," Völund sneered. "We're leaving."

"Lord-"

Völund turned to him, ager flaring in his eyes. "Enough, Hakon! We are leaving."

Hakon gritted his teeth. Völund looked at him expectantly. "Yes, lord," Hakon grunted. Then he shook his heavy bearskin cloak off his shoulders and draped it over Völund's shoulders. The priest raised an eyebrow.

"I can't ensure your health, but I can at least make sure that you stay warm, lord," Hakon commented grudgingly.

XXX

Gormlaith was finally made into a real warrior. Völund sent her to guard homesteads close to the forest, because monsters and hungry beasts most often attacked those, as they laid in the vicinity of their lairs. Hirstaang Forest was hiding a plethora of those.

Truth be told, Hakon was glad that she was sent there. Monster hunting would probably keep her occupied well enough.

It also meant that she was far away from Völund.

One evening, right after a burial, Hakon found Völund sitting in the round hall. He was alone, reading some parchment and pinching the bridge of his nose. An unfinished carving of a wolf lay beside him. The room was lit only by a small magical light, flickering above his head.

He didn't even notice Hakon enter the room. He realized someone was there when Hakon's heavy armour clanked near his seat. He tensed, but when he realized who was nearing him, he relaxed.

"Not sleeping yet?" he arched an eyebrow and his lips twitched.

"You are the one that should be asked about that, lord," Hakon grumbled.

"Really?" Völund said teasingly and put the parchment away. Then he crossed his legs and leaned back into his seat. Hakon swallowed.

"Yes, lord. You are still very pale, you look haunted and, according to the circles under your eyes, you need at least a day of sleep."

Völund smiled and his eyes glistened. Hakon took a step closer, drawn in by that rare, beautiful smile. He was so close to Völund now, towering over his seat.

Yet he felt that he was not the one with the upper hand.

He listened to Völund's breathing, calm and so tantalisingly close. His own was rather haggard, as if he had fought a battle beforehand.

Völund suddenly rose from his seat, forcing Hakon to take a step backward. Only a small one, though.

They were so close now. Völund had to look up to see into Hakon's face. Hakon's hands twitched.

"Say my name," the priest rasped.

Hakon gave him a perplexed look. This wasn't the confident ruler he knew. But he liked that almost pleading tone. It revealed more of what he loved about the man.

He gently caressed the smaller man's shoulders. "Völund…"

XXX

 **4E 197, Imperial City**

"Hey, look, our little scroll girl is here," a Synod apprentice said mockingly in a sing-song manner. His friends turned around and their eyes locked onto Bernadette.

She paid no heed to the insults that followed. She was here to have a drink, not to listen to idiots. She sat down by one of the not very tall tables.

"As usual?" the dunmer proprietor asked. Bernadette nodded and put coins into her hand. The thin woman put a cup in front of Bernadette and then turned around to reach into a cabinet. She pulled a bottle of greef out and poured it into the cup.

"What are they doing here?" Bernadette glowered at the group of apprentices after the first sip. "I thought they didn't like your manners."

"Anato kicked them out," the Dunmer noted dryly.

"By Zenithar's greyed beard," Bernadette cursed. She turned back to her cup. After a while she shot another glance at the apprentices. Reman was there…..being divinely handsome, as always. Especially in this dark red atmosphere of dunmeri cornerclub lit by paper lanterns.

"Ooooooh, I smell a story here, am I right?" a feminine voice asked from somewhere behind her shoulder. It was….a damn nice voice. Rich in tones. Trained. The Rs were rather prominent in the speech, though.

Bernadette blinked and looked around.

"Down here."

Bernadette's eyes wandered lower. There was a Khajiit standing there, partially obscured by a dark spot of a missing lantern. A young woman, probably few years older than Bernadette herself. She was an Ohmes, so she looked like an extremely short Bosmer with somewhat differently shaped ears. She had tattoos on her face to resemble the more feline Khajiit and her orange eyes were also a bit feline. She had tawny skin and thick mane of curly hair of very rich dark brown colour.

"Mind if I sit with you?" she asked.

Bernadette motioned towards the seat next to her.

"Thanks. I'll have some mazte, please," the Khajiit held out her hand with coins towards the proprietor. The Dunmer took them and went to get the mazte.

"Like my clothes?" the Khajiit smiled widely. Her teeth were blindingly white and a bit sharper than they should be. She was dressed in very vividly yellow shirt, sleeveless red overcoat decorated with orange trims and dark purple pants. She also had orange and yellow striped scarf around her waist. Lots of earrings. And rings as well. There were colourful beads in her hair.

She carried a flute and a beautifully carved lyre.

Bernadette quickly looked up. "I must admit that I do," she mumbled, a bit flustered.

The Khajiit winked at her. "I could show you where to get some nice clothes as well, if you'd like."

Bernadette looked at her simple green robe. It was practical. Useful. Green. She usually wore a leather cuirass over it. And a scarf. Also green.

"Dear," the Khajiit purred, "no wonder that the handsome devil over there has eyes only for alcohol and the smoking pipe."

Bernadette scowled.

"Oh, don't do that," the Khajiit grinned. "A scowl won't help you with men. Smile. Wink."

Bernadette took another sip of greef. The bitter, invigorating taste of comberry liquor filled her mouth. "Who are you? And why do you want to get me into...into.."

"I am Zura. A bard. Pleasure to meet you, good madam," the Khajiit made an elaborate gesture with her hand and bowed her head dramatically. "I gather songs and stories to entertain the hard working people of this good city. I also happen to have a brother who owns a tailor shop," she smiled again and flashed her wide sleeves. Bernadette noticed that they were decorated by darker coloured trims with intricate embroidery.

The dunmer proprietor turned her uninterested red eyes to Zura. "Don't think about singing here. People come here for a smoke, to talk and drink. Nice and quiet."

The Khajiit put her hand, fingers wide apart, over her heart. "My goodness, I wouldn't think of it, sera! Never you worry."

The Dunmer scoffed, then went to tend to other customers.

Zura turned to Bernadette with a smile and spark in her orange eyes. "Now, where were we? Ah, the story!" She nestled more comfortably on her chair and entwined her dashingly elegant fingers. "You, if my guess is correct, are one of the librarians, right? And the handsome gentleman with the rather loud companions over there is a member of the Synod, yes?"

Bernadette nodded. She was starting to get really curious about where the Khajiit was heading with this conversation.

"I can see in your long lost stares that you would like for him to...burn with desire, shall we say?" Zura smiled suggestively.

"That I would. But it's impossible. All of them resent me, as is the custom among the Synod, and I doubt that Reman would stand against the trend his friends have set for him."

"Don't you worry. Promise to come have a look at what my brother has to offer and I will share few...tips," Zura winked, "with you. Sure to get him."

"Only look? No need to promise to buy?" Bernadette raised her eyebrow.

"Dear madam, a look is what I need of you. I'm sure that after you see Dar'Aqui's work, you will fall in love and desire to buy a piece. If not," she shrugged, "someone else will."

Bernadette rubbed her chin. She shot a glance towards the apprentices. Then she drank the rest of her cup and put it on the table. "All right. But call me Bernadette."

Zura grinned. "I most certainly will, Bernadette." She stood up and offered her arm to Bernadette. "Shall we?"

XXX

"See? I told yooooou," Zura prolonged. "Now, that dress alone won't do. Come, come, let's have a cup of sweet balbah and talk about things. Your hair, for example," Zura turned around and led Bernadette through a hallway hidden behind a bead curtain.

"What's wrong with my hair?"

"It's perfect!" Zura purred. "It has the colour of dark hickory bark. You keep it in good shape, too, long, silky and strong. But," she raised her index finger, "you wear it in a messy bun! _That_ is a crime, dear."

"But...it's functional, I can't have hair in my eyes when I wo-"

"Tsk! Forget 'functional'!"

XXX

"Now, walk like this," Zura showed her, "and be sure to smile. You already have a smile on that lovely gentle face of yours, I know, but you need to smile a bit differently while you're on a hunt. Mystery! Desire," she purred, "sweetness of your lips. Let them know, with only a smile and a look from under the lashes, that you hold power over them. That there is none better than you."

XXX

"Are you looking for more nice things? Hm. You have fair complexion, but nicely sun-kissed. Here, try this scarf. I think greens, reds, oranges and...maybe dark blues? Or saturated browns, yes, those colours could fit you nicely."

XXX

"Well...maybe you could eat less sweetrolls?"

"Are you saying that I'm fat?"

"No. Not yet. You're...tall. Sturdy. Very nicely curved hips. But...you're starting to become a bit plumb."

"Tsk. I'd rather give up men than sweets."

Zura giggled.

XXX

"So, how is your quest faring?"

"I think I got his attention."

"See? Sit, sit, we need to discuss further course for your endeavours."

"Right. Hey, I noticed...that your door is a bit shabby. Lock and hinges…"

"What? Oh, the door. Yes, sadly…"

"How about I repair it? I'm a bit of a tinkerer."

"You would try?" Zura sounded surprised. "Just...like that?"

"Hey! We're friends now, right? Friends help each other out."

"True," the Khajiit grinned, "I did keep you close far longer than others, and intend to continue doing so."

XXX

"What's that?"

"A letter. I presume you've already seen one?" Bernadette smirked.

"Of course I have, dear woodland maiden. I should have worded the inquiry differently," Zura stuck her slightly barbed tongue out at Bernadette. "Who's writing?"

"I got two letters, to be precise," Bernadette picked another neatly sealed letter and waved it around a bit. "This one is from my friend, Olfina Grey-Mane. And the other...yes, it's from the twins."

"The twins? Is there a story to the mysterious _twins_?" Zura's eyes lit with interest.

Bernadette laughed. "No, nothing else than the fact that I've met two nordic warriors and befriended them. Well, Farkas first, he's such a sweetheart. A bit slower, perhaps, but who cares? Vilkas warmed up to me much later. But when he found out that auntie and I take interest in ancient nord history, he almost stuck his nose into our expedition notes."

"Lovers?" Zura asked with hardly concealed excitement.

"No," Bernadette smiled. "Friends. Good friends. Vilkas and I play board games together, and ponder about books. Farkas likes my stories and he's great company while picking flowers."

XXX

"A new tavern? What happened?"

"Eh," Bernadette shrugged, "Reman likes the cornerclub a little bit too much. He's always in there."

"I thought that his presence would be a good thing," Zura noted and continued tuning her lyre. A tiresome, yet rewarding duty.

Bernadette scowled and put a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "No. I slept with him. Then I stopped being infatuated and I realized how boring and unimaginative company he is, and decided to get lost."

"I see. Have you told him it's over?"

"Sure I did."

"Didn't help?"

"No."

Zura got up and stretched. "Wanna go explore the sewers to get into a better mood?"

Bernadette's eyes lit up. "Sure! Maybe we'll find the cave the Hero of Kvatch had gone through!"

XXX

"Bernadette, dear, have you been running through the sewers with that little bard again?"

"Maybe?"

"You smell. Go have a bath…" Flavia frowned.

"Yes, auntie."

"Do get Claudia's help….I suspect you forgot about the event later today, am I correct? Correct...look presentable, dear." Flavia turned back to her wardrobe. "By the Eight, what am I going to wear?"

Bernadette poked her head back into the door. "Auntie? I know of an excellent tailor's shop."

XXX

"Marvellous! Prepare for a journey, Bernadette, we're going back to Whiterun as soon as we're ready. About time we got to go on some expedition again."

18


	4. Chapter 4

**Merethic Era, Solstheim**

Hakon slowly woke up. He stretched, opened his eyes and realized that someone had taken all the furs and blankets.

He smiled. Just as every morning, he found Völund curled in all their covers, sleeping soundly. Well, soundly was usual, but with the occasional exception of waking up screaming due to a nightmare he refused to share.

Luckily Hakon was an exemplary Atmoran. He didn't mind the cold.

Hakon cuddled close to Völund and planted a gentle kiss on the top of his head, the only part of him not hidden under the covers. His lover mumbled something and huddled closer to him.

Hakon put his arm around the bundle of furs, but soon grew frustrated. He began to unfurl the covers, which woke Völund up.

"What are you doing?" he mumbled sleepily while trying to keep the covers wrapped around himself.

"I want to put my arms around you, not around the furs," Hakon grumbled. He finally managed to slip under the covers and he immediately wrapped his arms around Völund.

"You're cold!" the smaller man hissed. He didn't move away, though.

"Warm me up, then," Hakon huffed into Völund's black hair and pulled him even closer to his massive chest. He felt Völund's hands warm up with magic.

"That's cheating, you know," he noted after a while.

"No, that's power," Völund smiled, "power to do amazing things. Also, we need to get up."

Hakon grumbled. "Do we have to?"

"You ask me the same question every morning and every morning you get the same answer. Yes, we do."

XXX

His first tribute came at a cost of several deaths by starvation during the winter. The settlement was not in a good state.

Völund sighed. He wowed for himself to fare better next year. Heal more people. Maybe use some health potions to boost the harvest?

XXX

"Angma? Are there any people you could spare?"

"Lord?"

"Are there any people that are not needed on the fields? I need several apprentices. I can't manage to brew enough potions of cure disease by myself, yet enough to gather enough ingredients. Maybe the herders could help with that?"

XXX

"Cut the plant carefully. You need to gather the juice."

Völund was walking among his new apprentices. A little haphazard group consisting of those who weren't fit to work all day on the field.

He smiled. They were eager to learn and it showed.

XXX

Next year his people didn't starve after submitting the tribute.

He celebrated with Hakon in privacy.

XXX

Using health potions on plants was not as effective as Völund hoped, but the effort of his apprentices in the laboratory managed to keep people healthy and even boost their stamina to work a bit longer.

XXX

Time went by. With each submitted tribute, Völund grew more and more distant to the teachings of the dragon priests. He saw how his effort shown. He saw that not many of the order did anything other than performing sacred rites for their people.

He slowly began to feel frustrated with the priesthood. Why, why wouldn't they use their power to do great things?

Why?

The Dwemer could be chased off of their fields easily. The workers could be healed to keep living and working, instead of dying due to a disease easily cured by magic.

Buildings could be built much faster. Borders defended. The resources utilised wisely. Peace negotiated with the surrounding elves. Time could be saved if only there were more shrines, not only those in the center of the settlement.

But…

It didn't happen.

XXX

Völund was pleased. Very pleased. This year was good and his settlement managed to produce enough to both give the tribute and to keep their granaries filled enough to make it through the winter with full bellies.

He frowned. The latter might have something in common with the fact that he didn't need to have opulent dinners every now and then. Or that he didn't waste his people on meaningless tasks, ones he could do perfectly well on his own.

The priesthood...

He growled and put the parchment upon which he has been noting the situation of the settlement down. Hakon looked up, startled by Völund's sudden outburst of anger. Then he hurried up to catch up with the small man who could move surprisingly fast when he wanted to.

Völund stormed out of his hall. He stopped outside the door and looked around. Hakon stood beside him and noticed how tightly his elegant fingers grip the staff. He opened his mouth and raised his hand to touch Völund, but the priest suddenly let out a scream full of anger.

His voice intensified and deepend. It made the air tremble. Hakon took few steps back and put his hands over his ears. He felt vibrations deep within his chest. And in the stone beneath his feet. The very sky darkened with heavy black clouds, promising rain. And then, when he thought that his head would explode, Völund's staff did instead.

With one final scream, Völund's hand, gripping the staff, emitted waves of power. The staff couldn't take it. It erupted in a barrage of splinters. Hakon raised his hands to protect his face from the wood.

It was over in a moment. He lowered his arms.

Völund was standing in the same position, his empty hand curled into a fist. His chest was heaving wildly. His whole body was trembling and the air around him was shimmering.

Black clouds above their heads lit up with lightning. A loud thunder rolled in a moment later, reminding Hakon of Völund's angry scream.

Völund finally moved. He screamed again and flailed his arms. Then he stormed off to the shrine. Hakon didn't follow him. And good that he didn't. As soon as Völund made his way to the stones, the shrine erupted in a wild storm of lightning.

XXX

The dragons came to collect their tribute once the snow began to cover the ground in a thick blanket. All priests, every single one of them, gathered at the Temple. Those who managed villages and settlements brought the tribute - animals, alcohol, potions, food, gemstones, ore….whatever their settlement produced.

Those who didn't manage to gather enough brought people instead. Völund wondered why would the dragons want people. They were usually content with letting the priests handle their subjects, and only intervened in the lives of lesser beings by burning something during their never-ending disputes.

A dark thought crossed his mind. He knew that dragons loved shiny things, so weapons, armour, gems and metal made sense. But he also knew that dragons, though they didn't need to eat, enjoyed taste of food and drink. Surely they wouldn't….eat...those people?

Hakon, who was as his housecarl allowed to participate, sensed his tension and slipped one hand around Völund's waist for a brief moment. Völund sighed. He was glad that Hakon was there with him, but he wanted to tell lord Miraak, as every year, about his settlement and wanted to try to convince the other priests to treat the people a bit better. Now, however, he lost conviction that his plan could work.

The dragons were magnificent. Terrifying. Völund felt a shiver run down his spine once first of them appeared in the sky.

But their beauty was a cruel one. He was about to learn this year.

The great beasts landed. Then they conversed with lord Miraak and, finally, accepted the tribute. Völund watched with resentment as he saw all those animals, all the results of hard work of the people, disappear into the scaly bellies.

The horror came at the end.

After devouring other living beasts, the dragons ate the several women and children, herded in with the cattle. They ripped their legs off first, then their arms, and in the end opened their rib cages like clams.

Völund knew that their screams would forever haunt him.

XXX

He burnt every dragon carving he had created.

Hakon noticed. Worry grasped his heart, but he refused to show it.

XXX

He kept pacing around his hall. Ever since they witnessed that horrid feast, Völund fought with himself. His disdain for the priests and their masters only grew during the last three months.

"Lord?" Hakon entered the hall.

Völund stopped pacing.

"The merchant arrived."

"Good. Thank you, Hakon," Völund marched out of the hall. He went down the hill, into the village underneath. The merchant would be staying in the inn, he was sure of that.

"Good evening, Angma," Völund beckoned to the old woman and then made his way to the only person who didn't fit the small establishment. A tall, fat man with a thick braided grey beard and a ridiculous hat. And those….strange...pieces of clothing covering his legs. Like two strangely put-together sleeves, one for each leg. Völund shook his head. It must have been uncomfortable in the manly areas, right?

He sat down to the table. Hakon remained standing close by.

"Good evening, lord," the merchant smiled widely and leaned forward. Völund scowled. He did not like people invading his personal space.

The merchant didn't mind Völund's scowl. "I heard that you are looking for special metal, is that right, lord?"

"Indeed. Do you have it?"

"Five ingots," the merchant winked. "Directly from Resdayn."

"Show me."

The merchant took his tankard and drank all what was left in it in one gulp. Then he belched and stood up. "If you could follow me, lord."

Völund stood up and went after the merchant. Hakon, who hadn't an inkling of what was going through Völund's head, followed closely, both curious and worried.

The man travelled lightly. Only two horses, no guards.

He opened one of the bags set aside by the horses and pulled a black ingot out of it. "Have a look, lord," he offered the ingot to Völund.

He took it. As he touched the ingot, he felt something stir inside. Certain power, warmth.

The merchant smiled wickedly. "Aaah, you can feel it, can't you, lord? The power? Yes, I can see that you can. It is said that this metal, ebony, is crystallized blood of a god. You know of which god I speak, don't you?"

"Of course I know," Völund retorted. "That's why I've been looking for it."

"Well, you've found it, lord."

"What do you want for it?"

The merchant smiled slyly. "A scroll from your library, lord."

Völund raised an eyebrow. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Burial rites."

Völund narrowed his eyes at the merchant. The man shrugged. "Well, if you don't want it…" he trailed off and reached for the ebony ingot Völund was holding.

"No. I want it," the priest frowned. "But I can't help but wonder what do you want with burial rites."

"That is my business, not yours, lord."

Völund glanced at the sleek black ingot. He sighed. "Very well. Take the rest of the ingots and come with me, if you please."

Hakon shivered.

XXX

Hakon woke up in the middle of the night. He has been feeling tense ever since that dragon encounter, and it only got worse after they returned home. He noticed a different look in Völund's eyes, one that frightened him.

He shivered and reached for his lover.

The bed was empty.

Hakon pulled himself up and looked around. The room was empty and quiet. Dark. He lit a candle, the warm glow of which revealed that Völund's clothes were missing as well.

Hakon yawned and bound his fur loincloth around his hips. As he left the room, he threw a heavy cloak made of bear fur over his shoulders. He hurried out of the hall and to the shrine, where he suspected to find Völund.

He was correct. But what he saw made him stop and watch silently.

Völund, dressed in his priestly robes, was standing in front of the wolf stone. His arms were spread wide. Cold, icy blue light swirled around his left arm, warm, fiery and pulsating light danced around his right arm. Both swirled and danced, joining together in front of the priest.

The magic engulfed the shrine in a sinister play of light and shadow.

Hakon squinted. There was something in front of Völund. Something rotating in the air. He crept closer to get a better look.

It was a staff. Völund was crafting his new staff with magic. Melted ebony slowly formed into a sleek body of the staff. On the other end, a clear, icy metal arose out of Völund's magic.

Hakon gasped. Stalhrim.

Völund's fingers twitched. Stalhrim and ebony moved closer and began to entwine. As they did, shapes and carvings appeared at the end of the ebony part - at a closer look Hakon could see that the carvings depicted wolves, not dragons. At the very end of the ebony part, there were two wolves raising their heads in a howl. That was where the ebony connected with stalhrim, which formed a spear-like blade and seamlessly joined and entwined with the wolf carvings.

Völund gasped and staggered. Hakon moved in to catch him, but Völund's hand reached for the finished staff instead. The priest grasped the staff and leaned onto it. Hakon froze, hand outstretched to Völund.

"Hakon."

"What have you done?" the warrior asked in dismay.

"I made a decision."

"What decision? To defile everything sacred?!" Hakon burst out.

Völund turned around to face the warrior. There was a sharp edge in his gaze, but Hakon didn't acknowledge it in his outrage.

"You've...you've used stalhrim outside tombs! You've made it into a weapon! The sacred ice was never meant to be a weapon!"

"And people were never meant to be eaten," Völund growled in a low tone. "We were never meant to forget the other gods."

"That's true, yes, but you can't just go and break every sacred law on that account!" Hakon took a step forward in a subconscious attempt to intimidate Völund with his height.

"Sacred law created by them!" the priest spat in the direction of the dragon stone. "Why do you defend them? They are no better than the elves from the deep, whom you so bitterly despise!"

"How dare you-"

"How dare I?" Völund roared. His voice made the stone beneath their feet tremble. Hakon took few steps back.

"How dare I? Look around you, Hakon!" Völund motioned with the staff. "We are nothing more than slaves! Beasts to be used as they please! You think yourself free man? You are NOT!"

"Stop this madness, I beg you," Hakon pleaded, anger gone from his voice. "What you're doing is unholy! They will come for you!"

Völund's eyes hardened even more. He hit the floor with his staff. "Let them come. I will achieve freedom for us all, one way or another."

"What do you intend to do?" Hakon recoiled.

"I will either destroy them or impress them," Völund turned away from Hakon, ready to leave.

"Impress them?"

Völund stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "To get the mask. Miraak. Use it against them." Then he walked away and left Hakon standing in the shrine, alone and shivering.

XXX

Völund's sudden rebellious outbursts indeed caused a reaction. After the word of a priest bearing a wolf carved, rather than dragon carved, staff spread, Miraak sent an agent to Völund's settlement.

Leoferic, still only a simple acolyte, arrived.

"Völund!" he spread his arms with a wide smile once he made his way to the hall. Völund could see that the smile was forced.

"Leoferic," he nodded. "Good to see you. How are your studies?"

The acolyte folded his arms behind his back. "Good. I've already begun to study Dovahzul, so when I'm elevated into priesthood, I will be able to start studying the thu'um right away. In fact, lord Miraak sent me here to observe you - to prepare me for managing my own settlement."

Völund tapped his staff. "Very well. Observe to your heart's pleasure."

XXX

A lightning whip cracked through the air. It wrapped around Leoferic's wrist and yanked it backwards. The acolyte screeched in pain.

"What are you doing?!" he screamed at Völund, who pulled him away from the man he had been whipping.

"Why are you hurting my people?" Völund bellowed.

"Let me go!" Leoferic tried to tug at the lightning whip. It crackled and burned him even more. "I was doing you a favour! Your subjects are lazy and need to be disciplined!"

Völund pulled him so close that their noses almost touched.

"Don't meddle in my affairs," he growled menacingly. "My people have right to rest for an hour and eat during their work time."

"What?"

"You heard me. If I ever see you touch any of them again, I will rip your hand off," Völund said calmly.

Leoferic looked into his eyes, cold like the sparkling tip of his wolf staff, and gulped.

"Are we clear?"

"Clear."

"Good." Völund released him and walked over to the peasant, who was covering on the ground. The priest knelt down and spoke with the man in a soft tone, then carefully touched his back. His hand lit up with a warm golden glow.

Leoferic shot him a look full of hate and began healing his wrist.

XXX

Hakon was deeply saddened. Völund grew distant since their dispute, and since Leoferic arrived, the two men were at war. Not frontal, opened war, but it was clear that their friendship was completely gone and that each sought a way to destroy the other.

It was autumn now, and so far Völund was winning. But he has violated so many laws….Hakon feared what will happen once Leoferic reports what he saw at the settlement to lord Miraak during the tribute submission.

He hung his head. Even though they were not on speaking terms, he still loved Völund deeply. The silence and worry for Völund's life hurt Hakon more than any wound he had suffered in the past.

He was sitting in the edge of the shrine. The sunset was amazingly beautiful this evening, but Hakon couldn't appreciate the beauty anymore. His eye, filled with sadness, wandered across the darkening land.

He focused on the dark line of trees in the distance. Gormlaith was probably enjoying herself. If only life was as simple for him as it was for her…

A low grumble could be heard and the earth shook a little. Things like this have been happening lately...according to reports Völund has been receiving, the quakes were the strongest in the area around the land bridge connecting Solstheim with the rest of Skyrim. Hakon shook his head and resumed his sad gazing.

Wait. There was a strange commotion on the edge of the settlement… A figure was approaching the village. Hakon stood up. According to how the people reacted, it was no ordinary visitor. He hurried down the hill.

The crowd was buzzing. There were also several men with weapons standing at the head of the crowd, as if to make sure no harm came to anyone.

Hakon forced his way through the crowd. Once he saw what the commotion was about, his jaw dropped.

There was a lean, pale woman standing at the border of the village. Her pointy ears, large green eyes and a head full of thick black curly hair combed up into an elaborate hairstyle classified her as a Dwemer.

"What is the meaning of this?" Völund's voice resonated above everyone's head. The crowd split to make way for the priest.

Völund marched through the crowd, his robes flowing around him as he walked. He stopped next to Hakon and examined the woman. She was rather tall, dressed in an elegant, colourful attire and her whole person radiated nobility.

"What do you want?" he asked her after a while.

She bowed her head. "Greetings, lord," she said a tad nervously. Her accent was thick, but she could speak their language well enough. "I am engineer Anzacharedz. I came in hope of talking to you."

"In what matter?"

"I come bearing a plea."

Völund's eyebrows went up. He watched her for a while and kept tapping his staff. Then he beckoned to her. "Come. We will talk. Angma! Join us." He waited for both women to come to him. He hesitated for a moment, but then he looked at Hakon. "You too."

Hakon's heartbeat quickened.

"Not the hall," the priest steered them as they walked through the settlement, "I don't want Leoferic present."

"You think he hasn't noticed, lord?" Hakon wondered.

Völund grimaced. "He's inspecting the foresters. When he hears about the commotion here, he will run straight into the hall. He won't make the assumption that I lowered myself to entering someone's house. May we, Angma?" he turned to the old woman politely.

She smiled warmly. "Be welcome to my humble abode, lord. Engineer," she beckoned, inviting them into her round house.

"Solveig!" Angma called out for her daughter once everyone was inside. "Find the boys and send them to watch the land. Acolyte Leoferic is not to know about this."

"Yes, mother."

Angma smiled. Then she set up a table and offered a seat to everyone.

Hakon was still nervous. "Won't someone tell him?"

Angma, pouring hot goat milk into their cups, frowned at him. "You have very low opinion of my people, housecarl."

"We can rely on your people, we know that, Angma," Völund bowed his head a little towards the woman. "Though Leoferic is bound to have someone watching us. We need to conclude this quickly," he turned his gaze towards Anzacharedz.

The Dwemer set her hands on the table and entwined her long fingers. "I know that I have no right to come to you and plead, given the animosity between our peoples," she sighed, "but I had to try."

She took a shaky breath. "I come to plead for help. I am the master engineer of a small station by the shore, we create animunculi parts. We are usually supplied by Nchardak," she paused as the Atmorans gave her perplexed looks, "the Sinking City," she tried another name.

That they understood. The engineer continued. "But lately there were earthquakes. I don't know whether have you felt them on the surface, but they are quite devastating below the ground. The last few quakes destroyed our tunnels and our station was cut off. We tried to repair the pathways and remove the rubble, but we don't have the right machines for the job. We've….we've ran out of food."

She opened her mouth to continue, but Völund stopped her. "So you want supplies from us?"

"Yes," she looked into his eyes. He saw desperation. "We would compensate you, somehow….or tried to negotiate some kind of treaty with the council of Nchardak, or-"

Völund raised his hand again to stop her. "How many of you are there?"

"Twenty, including myself."

"And how long do you think will it take for Nchardak to get to you?"

She shrugged. "That depends. We don't know how hard the quakes hit them. We also don't know whether they intend to go looking for us any time soon. We are only a small station."

"But...you do build their machines, don't you? Shouldn't they be concerned?" Hakon mused.

"We craft parts for the animunculi. We are not the only ones, though. There are many more stations like us around Nchardak. Away from the city, so we don't pollute the nice parts. They might not see us as a top priority."

Völund was tapping his fingers on the table. "Angma?" he asked after a moment of silence.

"Yes, lord?"

"Do we have enough food?"

"I think we do, lord, even with the tribute."

"Would the people agree to help our…" he looked at Anzacharedz, "not very appreciated neighbours?"

Angma shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, lord. You'd probably have to ask them yourself. And explain your intentions," she added, an unsaid question hinted in her tone.

XXX

"I….thank you, lord Völund," Anzacharedz put the last bag onto a cargo spider. Three of her colleagues, handling their own spiders, looked up at the sound of her voice.

Völund scratched his stubble, which refused to grow into a proper beard (with the exception of a small pointy goatee). The dwemer men had such long and elaborate beards!

"I hope that I won't see any of these...things…" he motioned towards the spiders, "running amok through my land, stealing food and hurting people."

"You won't," Anzacharedz assured him. "And should someone under my command violate our agreement, I will see to punishing them."

"Hopefully it won't come to that," Völund mumbled under his breath. Anzacharedz, who heard his remark, tilted her head.

"What a strange priest you are, lord Völund," she noted.

He looked at her for a while. Then he tapped his staff. "Should you need to contact me again, send a message to Angma. You know where to leave it for her grandson to find it."

"Yes, lord. Thank you again." She bowed deeply, but still graciously. "May you find understanding."

"Gods watch over you," he answered.

Anzacharedz smirked, glint of amusement in her eyes.

XXX

 **4E 198, Skyrim**

Word came around fast. Especially when madam Sorcelli was involved. The moment they arrived to Whiterun's stables, someone appeared to greet them.

"Farkas!" Bernadette called out when she recognised the man. She slipped down the saddle of her dark bay stallion, Zephyr, and hurried towards the large Nord. Laughing with joy, she jumped at him.

He caught her easily. Even though Bernadette was rather tall for a Breton, Farkas was a huge beast of a man. He picked her up, so her feet dangled above the ground, and spun her around. "Dette! You've finally come to visit!"

In the background, Flavia smiled gently and decided to take care of the horses on her own.

Farkas finally put her down. He smiled, then his brows furrowed. "What's that on your face?" he pointed towards her left cheek.

"Oh, this?" she reached to touch her cheek. There were simple, yet elegant dark green lines there, both above and below her eye.

"Seems a bit elaborate for a warpaint."

"It's a tattoo. I have more, look," she rolled her sleeve up to reveal her right arm. The whole length of her forearm was full of similar simple elegant lines, sometimes curved, sometimes not, creating an elaborate design.

"I have it also on my left leg, my back and shoulders. And stomach," Bernadette mumbled.

"How did you come by it? And so many of them?"

Bernadette rolled her sleeve down. "Honestly, I'm not sure. I woke up one morning, lying on the shore of lake Rumare, sore all over. I was clearly hungover, my head was throbbing, my stomach was angry, you know the stuff. My Khajiit friend was there, too. A lot of bottles. The tattoos were on me, and I don't really remember getting them. Though I suspect Zura talked me into it while we were drunk."

XXX

"Ha! Got you," Vilkas grinned triumphantly and moved a carved game piece representing a guard forward on the board. "Now I hold the Sleeping Tree camp. You won't recover from _that_."

Bernadette glared at him. It was a while since she last played Tundra Striders. A favorite board game in Whiterun and surrounding lands, but not much in the Imperial City. She leaned forward in her chair to inspect the board.

Farkas, sitting by the table with them, rubbed his chin and then sipped a bit of mead from his tankard. "Try charging headlong?" he suggested.

Bernadette shook her head slightly, eyes glued to the board.

Olfina, who worked for Hulda in the Bannered Mare as a maid, stopped by their table for a moment and looked over the board. "He's roasting you! Bernadette! Don't let him win. Show him, girl!"

Bernadette shot Olfina an annoyed stare. How was she supposed to think when there was always someone sticking their ideas in front of her nose?

There was a special move one could use when playing the giants…

She had only the king of Talking Stone and two herders left. And their mammoths. Bernadette looked over the board again. Well, why not. She probably wouldn't win anyway, whatever she did.

She took one of the two herders and placed the figurine directly behind a herd of mammoths. This move caused a stampede. The mammoths ran over Vilkas' farms and destroyed them, which meant he wouldn't get any resources until he rebuilt the farms.

"Good move," Vilkas noted as he reached for a small figurine of a hunter, hidden in tundra grass earlier and forgotten, "but during a wrong time. Too late and now your king is exposed." He placed the hunter into the Talking Stone camp.

Both of them reached for dice.

"Blasts and damnations," Bernadette frowned. She rolled a one, whereas Vilkas rolled a five.

He grinned and snatched the king out of the board.

"A damned hunter! When exactly did you place him there?"

"On the very beginning, while you were herding mammoths," he smiled. "A weak hunter, but the only one with the potential to kill the king in one move."

Bernadette pouted and folded her arms on her chest. "Tsk. Let's play Rascals on Waterfront and I'll show you."

"Ha! You're good, but don't overestimate yourself, Dette."

"I'll bring the game with me next time," she smiled at him overly sweetly, venom dripping from the corners of her smile.

Farkas smiled. "Better be cautious, brother, she can bite." He then picked two hawk feathers, conjoined by a cleverly tied thin strip of leather and a rather small clasp. He put the feathers into Bernadette's hair, just above her left ear, and fastened the clasp.

"What is that?" Bernadette's anger was gone in an instant, replaced by curiosity.

"A gift for you, Dette. I noticed you took interest in feathers last time. So I picked some real nice for you and thought of a way for you to wear them."

"Farkas!" Bernadette smiled widely. "How nice of you," she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, dear." She turned to Vilkas. "You should learn some manners from your brother, you prideful man."

"Manners? Him? Bernadette, I think your life in the Imperial City has rendered you silly," Olfina noted as she walked by.

XXX

The next morning found Olfina and Bernadette sitting on the wall together, having a breakfast. Gentle snowflakes, carried by Morning Star's breezes, fluttered around them.

"Why couldn't we stay at Breezehome, or at your home?" Bernadette finally asked the question that nibbled in her mind. She has had enough of idle chatter.

Olfina looked away. "I...my family believes…"

Bernadette perked up. "Wait. Is this...is this about that 'Stormcloak' cult?"

Olfina nodded. "You and your aunt are clearly imperial. And I heard people say that madam Sorcelli is favored by the Emperor. I...I can't be seen entering Breezehome. And you...I'm not sure whether or not would my brothers…"

Bernadette turned her eyes, full of hurt, to Olfina. "So...I should leave, then. A filthy Breton, half man, half mer, trespassing on your nord land, is that correct?"

"Bernadette-"

"What? Isn't that exactly what that fine jarl says? Well, I wouldn't know, right? Because I live in the Imperial City." Bernadette stood up. "There are rumours, you know? I heard about him, Octavian told me. The generals are in turmoil, not knowing whether to act or not. I just...I never thought that _you_ would stand by something so...so...racist!" Bernadette turned away and began walking quickly towards Breezehome.

"Bernadette!" Olfina went after her. "Wait! I don't think that you're bad. Not you, specifically. I believe that we, Nords, in our own land, should be able to govern ourselves as we please, that is all!"

"You can't pick only the nice things of an ideology, Olfina. It won't make the bad ones go away," Bernadette noted softly over her shoulder.

Then she ran away.

Olfina stopped her stride, not knowing what to do.

"That certainly went well," a well known voice noted from behind her. Olfina turned to her brother, Avulstein.

"Were you watching us?"

He leaned against the wall. "Well, I wanted to speak with Bernadette, actually. I knew you two would have breakfast together, but I didn't expect you to withdraw here. It took me some time to find you, and when I did, I heard you arguing."

"Well, what should I have done?" Olfina scowled. "I couldn't have taken her home. Thorald would turn hostile, not to mention uncle Vignar. Father probably wouldn't be too happy, either."

"Maybe you could explain what we actually believe in without mentioning Ulfric Stormcloak? I bet that the rumours far south make him into a monster."

"I didn't! She came with it herself."

"So you didn't explain anything and let her fill in the blanks. With what she had heard. In the _Imperial City_. Good job, sister."

Olfina sighed. "It's not like she gave me a chance to explain anything. What about did you want to talk to her?"

Avulstein turned his gaze towards the street leading to Breezehome. There was a sad longing in his eyes as he sighed. "It doesn't matter anymore…"

XXX

She finally saw the roof of Breezehome. Their home in Whiterun, one Flavia has owned for at least two decades by now.

She had the whole house reconstructed and redecorated. The dreadful fire pit was removed and new floor laid out. Flavia had a craftsman build a nice fireplace on the right side of the main hall. There were rugs and two armchairs in front of the fireplace, as well as place for the cooking pot. Dried herbs and garlic braids hung above it.

On the opposite side of the fireplace stood a desk, one that usually served as Flavia's work desk. In the corner, next to the door, was a small reading table with two chairs, and on the right two chests for various things and a place to hang one's cloak.

The kitchen with an oven and variety of cupboards was situated in the far back of the main hall, along with a dining table with four seats. On the left side, there was a door, leading to a small laboratory with an alchemy apparatus, enchanting table, a full bookshelf and few storage chests.

In the loft there was a small library and two doors, one on the left and one on the right. On the left was the smaller Bernadette's room, while on the right was the master bedroom.

The house was decorated with rugs, flowerpots and weaved wall decorations typical for Whiterun to seem as warm as possible.

Bernadette ran inside and shut the door behind her.

Flavia, who was just enjoying breakfast back at the dining table, looked up, startled by Bernadette's entry.

"Dear? What happened?" she rose from her seat and hurried to Bernadette. "You look terribly shaken," she noted as she swept snowflakes out of her hair.

"I don't think we should ask the Grey-Manes for assistance in our endeavour," Bernadette said flatly.

"But don't they trace their lineage all the way back to Ysgramor? I thought that they would be thrilled to recover Yngol's-"

"They would probably cut our arms off for touching their precious dead ancestor."

Flavia raised her eyebrows.

"We're too _imperial_."

XXX

"Dear?" Flavia knocked on the doorframe of Bernadette's room. The young woman looked up from the crossbow she was working on. The corners of Flavia's mouth dropped a little. Bernadette has been working herself to the bone since the morning two days ago. She had dark circles under her reddened eyes, she didn't eat much and she smelled badly because she didn't even take a visit to the bathhouse in the city in between switching among various projects.

The jackdaw, strangely enough, was present too. It usually stuck around the inside of their homes only for a while but today...

"I went to talk to harbinger Whitemane. I managed to acquire armed help from him, in the form of Vilkas and Farkas."

Bernadette's face brightened a bit with a smile.

Flavia sat down next to Bernadette and looked at the weapon.

"I'm trying to make the pulling mechanism easier to use," Bernadette mumbled. "So I don't need to use so much strength while pulling the string back. Basically the thing should pull itself for me."

"Good idea. Such a massive weapon, no wonder you never were able to fire more than few times in a row."

"Yes. But, if I get a bit more time, I might fire much, much more often. And it keeps the strength of the arms, so most types of armour should not be much of a problem."

Flavia caressed Bernadette's tangled hair, careful not to disturb the feathers from Farkas. "Dear, I'm afraid that if you continue your endeavours the Legion might steal you from me for themselves," she smiled proudly at her niece.

"It wouldn't be that bad, would it? We'd both get to spend more time with Octavian."

Flavia's cheeks reddened a bit. She decided not to comment on that.

Bernadette put the crossbow down and reached for a vial of something pungent on the other end of the table. "I also have this - it's an acid, so it can eat through metal and such - if we ever need to do something like the last time. But," she raised an index finger, "if mixed with dragon extract, it blows up. Rather gloriously, I might add."

"Another bomb?"

"Yes. It needs the extract, though. I was thinking...maybe I could create some sort of a bottle, or something, to hold both liquids. Separated by something. Which would break under pressure - and then explode!" Bernadette flashed her teeth in an excited smile. "As a side effect, the explosion creates dust. Sparkly pink dust. I haven't yet figured out what _that_ does, though."

Flavia chuckled. "I'm sure it won't take you long, dear."

"Hopefully," Bernadette put the vial back on the table. "Has the item arrived?"

"Yes. My agent had procured it some time ago and sent it here the moment I notified him we were coming. Which reminds me, I need to send him his extra money," Flavia got up. "Do you want to have a look at it?"

XXX

"I can't help but wonder why you wanted our help, madam Sorcelli," Vilkas grumbled as the group rode through the snow. "No one has attacked us yet."

"Oh, I think we owe that to you fine gentlemen," Flavia noted. "I would rather not go into the vicinity of Windhelm and surrounding farms without fine nordic warriors at our sides. We are both outsiders, unwanted by the good jarl of Windhelm. Who knows what his warriors might do if they saw two lone imperial looking women?"

Farkas shot a glance at Bernadette's crossbow. "Probably get torn to pieces by that?"

"Or fried by your spells, madam?" Vilkas added.

Flavia chuckled. "True. I thought you might like the idea of visiting Yngol Barrow."

"Yngol's tomb?" Vilkas perked up. His foot slipped in the stirrup and he almost fell down from the horse's back.

"Why, yes. I hope to find some interesting carvings to copy and try to translate. Maybe recover some relics?"

"Wait. You want to steal from the honoured dead?" Vilkas bristled a little. "I thought you only drew pictures and took notes."

"Yngol?" Farkas joined the conversation. "Wasn't he Ysgramor's son?"

"Yes, brother. Remarkable memory," Vilkas growled.

"So...isn't taking things from his tomb something like us taking the fragments of Wuuthrad?" Farkas mused. "A good thing? To preserve it?"

"My thoughts exactly," Flavia winked at Vilkas. The man scoffed, but excitement was shining through his eyes.

XXX

"Wait, wait wait wait. There are skeletons there."

"And what about them?"

"They look suspiciously compact. They might be undead, not just simple dead. Let me try my crossbow on their skulls."

XXX

"What on Nirn are those lights?"

"I have no clue."

"Don't look at us, neither do we."

"But they're pretty. And they make noises, too!"

"Wait, Farkas, don't try to touch the- ….too late."

"They're cuddling to my legs on their own, I swear!"

XXX

"Oh, hey, a dead scholar."

"How very encouraging."

"Maybe he has some notes…"

"Search him, then. I think I will examine the walls a bit closer…"

After some time, filled with the sound of turning pages, Bernadette looked up from the notebook.

"Farkas?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you be a dear and rotate these columns for me?"

"Sure, Dette. To what picture?"

XXX

"Shoot it! Shoot it with that damned siege weapon!"

"I'm trying! But you're waving that huge paddle of yours around all the time!"

The shade growled something in an ancient language and swung its blade at Vilkas. The man dodged it and struck back.

Vilkas' greatsword went through the ethereal body. It only distorted the image for a bit.

The shade growled again and raised a hand.

Flavia hurried in front of everyone and raised a ward. A blast of frost nova hit the ward. The sorceress gritted her teeth.

Bernadette peeked over the edge of the protective shield. She slipped a vial out of her belt and threw it with all her strength at the ground beneath the shade.

Flavia's eyes widened the moment she noticed the flying vial. She immediately powered and widened her ward. It was so strong that instead of a shimmering shield it became a thick wall of whirling air.

The vial shattered.

BOOM!

A huge fiery explosion erupted beneath the shade. It grew into a swirling inferno, covering the creature in blazing flames. A blast of fire engulfed the whole room.

The power of the explosion pushed Flavia several steps back, forcing her to bump to Farkas. But the ward withstood the assault.

Loud sizzling and hissing resounded. Little sparkles of pink dust began to fall from the edges of the blast. And then, as suddenly as the flames erupted, they were gone. Only sparkling pink dust, slowly fluttering to the floor, remained.

Flavia turned to her niece as she lowered the ward. Bernadette was grinning, eyes wide with excitement.

"Maybe use something less...extravagant...next time?" she arched an eyebrow.

"But I wanted to try it!"

XXX

"It's spotless! In perfect condition!" Farkas marvelled at Yngol's helmet.

Bernadette looked up from the sketches she was making. "Sure. It's enchanted."

"Or maybe it's because Yngol was the blacksmith of blacksmiths! His work was something. His work was legend!"

"A legend that shattered," Vilkas noted.

"That's not because he was a bad blacksmith," Farkas frowned. "Other things he made are fine. The whole set of armour survived just fine."

"Because…..it's enchanted," Bernadette looked at her drawing, thoroughly detailed, with satisfaction. "The cuirass is done. Pass me the helmet, would you?"

XXX

The twins spent the rest of the day in Breezehome. Vilkas and Bernadette, after the drawings have been finished, worked through the notes the women took during their visit of the barrow and Farkas listened to their talks while braiding beads into Bernadette's hair.

"We should probably return to Jorrvaskr," Vilkas noted with a hint of disappointment after the three of them had a late dinner.

"What a shame. Maybe you could stay a bit-"

A knock on the door interrupted Bernadette's sentence. She looked at the door, perplexed.

"Who could that be?" she muttered as she got up. "Not auntie, she wouldn't knock…" She opened the door.

"Avulstein?"

"Hi. Can I-" the white haired warrior started, but Bernadette cut him short.

"Are those lavender dumplings?" she narrowed her eyes at a small basket Avulstein was holding. "With honey?"

"Yes, your favourite...or so I'm told," he added quickly.

Vilkas and Farkas appeared behind Bernadette's shoulders. "Hey, Stein!" Farkas greeted him warmly.

"Oh," Avulstein's mood dropped a bit, "you have company. I'll come later, then. Or maybe tomorrow, since it's already late..."

Vilkas shot a look at the basket, then at a bundle of dried flowers Avulstein was holding in his other hand. All of them had alchemical use. All of them were Bernadette's favoured.

"We were just leaving," he said casually.

"I thought that we-" Farkas started, but Vilkas grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him out of the door as he went through.

"Don't let us disturb you," Vilkas arched an eyebrow at Avulstein and his lips twitched in a hint of a smile.

As the twins were leaving, Avulstein and Bernadette could hear Farkas' curious inquiries, Vilkas' hushed answers and finally a louder 'oooooh' as Farkas realised something. And then they were gone.

Bernadette folded her arms on her chest. "Why are you here?"

"Well… I heard you and Olfina arguing. I wanted to explain and to show you that we need not be on opposing sides, because honestly, she really screwed it whole up."

Bernadette reached for a dumpling. "And you want to bribe me with sweets?"

"That I do. Olfina baked them and sent me with them as a peace offering. As for myself, I brought these as a small bribe, too," he offered the flower bundle to Bernadette. "May I…may I come in?"

She looked at him from under her lashes, dumpling in her right hand. She took a bite. Delicious.

Bernadette smiled and took a step aside to let Avulstein through. "You may."

25


	5. Chapter 5

**Merethic Era, Solstheim**

Völund and his company encountered another priest on their way to the Temple. It was an older man with greying hair, leading a small mining settlement.

Völund noticed that there was a girl with bound hands sitting on one of the carts. Hakon noticed who he was looking at.

"Lord, don't... you can't do anything for her."

Völund glowered at him, then lifted himself up in the air and floated towards the other priest. Hakon sighed.

The priests exchanged greetings. The older man looked at Völund with careful interest. "I have heard that one of us chose to revere the Wolf-mother," he noted after he examined Völund's staff and his wolf cap and cloak.

"Shouldn't we revere all gods?" Völund asked. The other priest chuckled.

"True."

"I see a girl among your goods," Völund went right to the thing at hand, "have you not enough metal?"

The priest shook his head in sadness. "No. A shaft collapsed. Buried a lot of people in. They were dead before even I could get to them."

"Why pick her?"

"She's an orphan. A hag was taking care of her, an herbalist, but she died few weeks ago. No one wanted to marry her, either, she's too young for that. Had it happened two years later..."

"I'll give you a cow in exchange for the girl."

"You...what?"

"You heard me."

"You want to offer her to the great ones yourself?" the older man looked horrified.

"No. I want to save her. I brought extra. Maybe I should have offered two goats instead, I can see some over there, tied to a cart."

"You will invoke wrath of the great ones…"

"Will you trade the girl or not?"

The older priest shrugged his shoulders. "As you wish. On your head be the consequences. Ingve! Untie the girl!"

Völund looked over his shoulder and found Hakon standing there. "Give two of our goats to them."

"Vö-" Hakon started to plead, but the priest cut him short.

"Do as I said."

"Yes, lord," Hakon hung his head.

As the goats were exchanged for the girl, Völund landed. Hakon brought her to him.

"What's your name?" Völund asked her after he untied her hands.

She was young, could be about fourteen or fifteen winters old. Her hips were widening and her breasts, though still small, were clearly distinguishable from the rest of her chest. She was blonde with green eyes. "Geda," she answered, eyes turned down to her toes.

"Come with me, Geda," Völund reached his hand out to her. The girl's jaw dropped. She risked a quick glance up at the priest. He smiled and beckoned to her. She slowly took his hand.

Hakon watched as they walked onward, talking about something quietly. He felt pangs of jealousy and sadness. It has been too long since Völund reached for _his_ hand.

XXX

The gathering was grandiose. The priesthood took special care with preparing the feast and ceremonial submission of the tribute.

The Second, the General, the great White One was coming this day.

Völund set his tribute and took his place among the other priests. Hakon was standing a step behind his back.

Three dragons came. A small green dragon with petrifying eyes, a large warrior with scales as crimson as fresh blood and a magnificent white dragon, whose scales shone as brilliantly as freshly fallen snow.

Miraak greeted them. Everyone bowed deeply.

The great white dragon eyed the tribute. His scaly maw furrowed in discontent and he turned burning yellow eyes to Miraak.

He said something in Dovahzul. Miraak bowed again and hastily answered. The great white dragon snarled. Miraak took a step back and bowed again, saying something in Dovahzul respectfully.

Miraak turned to two priests accompanying him. "Bring ten women and children."

The priests bowed and turned to leave.

"NO!"

Völund blocked their way. His knuckles were almost white with how strongly he was holding his wolf staff.

"Out of the way, wolf cub!" one of the priests threatened.

Völund hit him with a gust of wind so strong, that it lifted him from the ground and slammed him to a wall.

The great white dragon licked his maw and turned his gaze to the small man. Völund raised his staff, its blade pointing at the dragon.

The other two great beasts moved closer, desire for battle clear in their eyes.

The white turned to the red and told him something.

The green dragon reared. "YOL TOOR SHUL!"

A stream of flame left his mouth. Völund yelped and raised a ward. He felt heat, so much heat. Flames going around his ward licked his robes and his hair. Stench of burned hair filled his nose.

And then the flames stopped streaming.

Völund quickly leapt out of the way. The red dragon's tail hit the ground where he was standing a second ago.

Völund swirled his staff. A cloak of lightning surrounded him, just in time. The green dragon screeched and backed away as he burned the inside of his mouth on the lightning. Völund turned his staff quickly and stabbed with it against the red dragon. A huge bolt of lightning flew from the tip.

The red dragon was no amateur. He jumped up and steered out of the way of the bolt with his wings. The bolt hit the temple instead. A deafening thunder rolled in just as several stones fell down to the ground.

All the priests and housecarls began running away to safety.

Völund glanced around quickly. But Hakon wasn't anywhere to be seen..

"FO KRAH DIIN!"

A blast of freezing breath hit Völund. He quickly summoned a ward, but his body was so damn cold...

A hit by a tail swept him off of his feet and slashed his legs. Bleeding, Völund hit the ground.

He rolled away. Clawed talon, ready to crush his bones, landed right next to him. Völund caught one of the clawed fingers and mustered all his anger. He let out a defiant scream. As he did, his hands lit with lightning, which ran freely into the dragon.

The dragon screeched and leapt into the air. He beat his wings. The wind caused by the frantically beating wings pushed Völund away.

He scrambled up to his feet. He looked around quickly, scanning the courtyard as he ran away from the red dragon's fiery breath. It was empty, save for him and the dragons. And...Geda?

The girl was hiding behind a column, but she was there and her eyes followed his every movement.

He was not alone.

Encouraged by her presence, he continued his frantic run among draconic breaths and swirled his staff again. The sky darkened. Heavy steel-grey clouds rolled in.

The great white, up until now only watching, reared and roared. The green dragon, circling above and spewing flames, pulled his wings closer to his body.

Völund evaded the red dragon's wing and whipped several lightning bolts at him. The dragon screeched and jumped away from the sizzling whips. The other dragon swooped down.

Völund gripped his staff with both hands. The clouds above, now completely dark and swirling with water, began to spew snowflakes. Electricity sizzled in their heavy bellies. And then, when the green dragon's claws almost closed around Völund, a stream of lightning shot out of Völund's staff.

It hit the dragon's chest. The immense power jerked his body upwards, away from the small man standing on the ground.

Völund screamed and powered the spell again. The hit hurled the green dragon away from the Temple. He screeched in pain. He flapped his wings, but his body was too weak. He fell from the sky like a rock, screeching in horror.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!"

The great white joined the fray. His flames were much hotter and stronger than those of the other two. Völund's ward broke. The stream of flames pushed Völund to the ground. He screamed in agony as the flames seared his body.

Then it stopped. Völund took a raspy breath.

Shimmering white claws closed around his body and lifted him up. He could hear the beating of wings.

They were going to take him up and then throw him away like garbage.

He still had his staff, his fingers wound around it in a spasm. And the clouds were still there, littering heavy snowflakes.

He bared his teeth, damning the pain it caused him in one last moment of defiance, and called his magic. The sky responded. The clouds turned jet black and their bellies sizzled with lightning. A huge bolt shot down, hitting the red dragon. He screamed and fell from the sky.

Another girdle of lightning went through the air. The white dragon tried to steer clear of it, but the girdle zig-zagged and found its target anyway.

The dragon roared in pain. His talons opened. Völund began to plummet.

As if in a dream, he saw the white dragon flap his wings in an attempt to stop his fall. And then he saw the ground, covered in white snow. Blackened sky. Glistening snow.

In a final attempt to save himself, he summoned last remnants of magicka in his damaged body to slow his fall.

He hit the ground and buried deep into the snow.

XXX

Miraak was searching. Personally. He wouldn't entrust this task to anyone, for he had ulterior motives.

"There! That's the place I last saw them," Geda exclaimed. She was wading through the thick cover of snow, whereas Miraak floated above it.

The priest floated a bit higher. Yes...there, down on that meadow, there was a place where the snow wasn't as deep. He flew to that place.

When Geda finally managed to wade to his side through the snow, he has already dug up a broken and seared body. Miraak's hands lit with magic. Geda held her breath.

"Alive…" the priest muttered after a while, surprised. "Barely, but still…" He straightened up and waved his hand. Völund's body lifted from the ground, engulfed in a faint green glow. "Power like that needs to be harnessed," Miraak muttered to himself.

XXX

Geda stubbornly followed the priest through Solstheim for days. They travelled to the far northern parts of the peninsula, to the land of nobody. Their path led through Snow elven territory, but luckily the only creatures they met were huge ice wolves. After days of careful travel they crossed the territory and arrived to the glacier. It stood there like a titan, reflecting light of the setting sun. She marvelled at how beautiful it was.

And there, in the mountains above the glacier, stood a monastery.

That was exactly where Miraak was headed. Saering's Watch. Geda doubled her efforts to follow the priest, since she doubted she would be let inside without him.

XXX

"Lord Miraak," a masked priest welcomed them. "You found another one?"

"I expect you to patch him up, Dukaan," Miraak growled. "And then to make him into a useful tool. He is powerful."

Dukaan floated over to Miraak and looked at Völund. "Tsk. Such bad shape. What did you do with him?"

"Nothing. The fool refused Paarthurnax."

"And he's still alive?"

"Barely. I put him in stasis, but he needs healing. NOW! Move it!"

XXX

No one noticed her slip inside the monastery. She sneaked to the room where Miraak had left Völund. Dukaan was already there, his bony hands wandering about Völund's damaged body.

"So many broken bones," he mumbled as Geda nestled in a dark corner. "Burns everywhere..."

Völund twitched. Dukaan chuckled. "Stubborn little bastard. But right now I need you to sleep. So stop fighting," he whispered and touched Völund's burnt forehead with his index finger. It shimmered with indigo coloured magic. "Sleep."

Völund's breath slowed to a bare minimum.

XXX

The priest could do wonders. Geda watched him work for weeks now. First he mended Völund's bones. Shattered limbs, broken ribs, damaged spine, cracked skull...he fixed everything. Then he healed Völund's insides. And to finish his work, he renewed Völund's flesh and skin. All the while keeping him in some strange kind of death-like sleep, which ensured that he didn't die in the process.

Geda sat with a sweetroll she got from a mute kitchen maid and watched as Völund's body covered with body hair in places where it should be.

Dukaan looked over his work. Völund's skin had a healthy colour again. Strangely enough, though, the scars he had bore before remained, his old wounds did not heal. Otherwise he looked as if nothing had happened. He was breathing calmly and deeply.

Well...he looked as if nothing had happened with one exception. His left leg was sitting somewhat strangely in its joint.

"That's about everything I can do. He will probably have problems with limping, but...he's alive" the priest muttered for himself. "Have you been watching closely, girl?"

Geda, startled by being addressed, froze.

"You thought that I didn't know about you? I thought better of you, girl," the masked face turned to her. "Have you watched closely?"

She nodded silently.

"Good. Have you seen how I've been weaving the magicka?"

She nodded again.

"Then you can stay. He," Dukaan pointed at Völund, "is your master from now on. You are his student." The priest snapped his fingers. Faint indigo glow, present around Völund, dispersed.

Völund gasped for breath. His eyes snapped open and he tried to sit up.

Dukaan pushed him on his back by a bony, yet relentless hand. "Don't try your luck, boy. You may have fought against me the whole time, but now that you can actually acknowledge me, I strongly advise against it."

"What? Who-" Völund rasped.

"My name is Dukaan. You are in Saering's Watch. Up north. You are to become one of Miraak's secret zealots." The priest sneered loudly. "Welcome to the group."

Völund tried to get up again.

Dukaan pushed him back with no effort. "Stubborn, so stubborn. Don't be so rash to undo my work."

Völund narrowed his eyes at Dukaan. "Why am I here?"

"Your power impressed Miraak. He wants me to turn you into a mindless zealot," Dukaan shrugged and floated a bit higher.

"But you aren't going to do that, are you?" Völund inquired.

"No. I don't take kindly to being imprisoned somewhere. I'm going to teach you instead. All I ask in return is that you use your stubbornness and considerable power against Miraak once he decides that it's time to release his zealots."

Völund nodded. "I could do that."

"Good. This means you get to live with your own brain, not just an empty head." Dukaan threw a plain brown robe at him. "Get dressed. Your apprentice will take you to your quarters. Training starts tomorrow, so I advise you to get something to eat and spend the rest of the day sleeping."

"Apprentice?"

Dukaan, already floating away, looked over his shoulder. "Your devoted girl over there." Then he left the room.

Völund turned his head. Geda hurried to him, tears in her eyes. "I knew it, I knew you wouldn't die like that!"

"Geda?"

"I followed Miraak," she said defiantly and wiped the tears off of her face. "First he wanted me to show him where you fell, because I was the only one brave enough to watch, and then, when he found you, he took you here. I went after him and slipped inside."

"Why are you here, Geda?" he sat up slowly and groaned.

Her eyes wandered across his body for a moment. "You saved my life, master. It is only fitting I serve you in turn," she answered once her eyes locked with his.

He sighed and looked around. "I doubt it will bring you great joy," he remarked as he dressed himself.

He winced once he stood up. He sat back down.

"What's wrong?" Geda inquired.

"My left leg...once I stand on it, it hurts so damn much," he breathed out.

Her face saddened. "Dukaan said that you might have problems with limping, master. Your bones...your bones were shattered there. Hip, femur, knee, ankle...everything. The others were broken, but..."

Völund closed his eyes and breathed out long-windedly.

Geda went to get his staff, left by the door. Then she returned to Völund and offered it to him. "Master?"

He opened his eyes slowly and looked up at her. Then his eyes wandered to the staff and he pursed his lips. He reached for the staff, leaned onto it and slowly pulled himself up. Geda smiled at him encouragingly and went to open the door.

He followed her slowly, limping heavily, using the staff to support himself.

XXX

"Laas Yah Nir," Völund whispered. The world lit up with vivid, pulsing colours. He smiled.

Dukaan, watching all his wards from a distance, rubbed the chin of his mask thoughtfully.

XXX

The room was so dark. So cold.

Völund kept shifting and turning from one side to the other. His breathing was haggard. Half asleep, his tired mind conjured up the blood curdling screams of the people sacrificed to the dragons.

His cheeks were wet with tears.

XXX

"But master, I will never learn to Shout," Geda complained. Even though Völund learnt Dovahzul and the Shouts coming with it exceptionally fast, she wasn't so fortunate.

In fact, she was glad if she could master even the smallest feats of magic.

"Don't give up, Geda," Völund encouraged her. He walked over to her, his limp now noticeable, but not crippling, and put his hands on her shoulders. "Knowledge is the key. When you have knowledge, many more possibilities open up to you. Since you are so cunning and courageous, I have no doubt that you will find a way to use them."

Geda blushed.

Völund mused on. "And you can feel magicka, can you not? That must count for something...must lead somewhere…there is a type of magic you are good at, we just haven't found it yet."

XXX

His hair was growing steadily, as was Geda. Time kept running ever onwards, soon the days turned into weeks, weeks into months and they both lost the track of time.

Völund was getting proficient at Shouts and magic of the mind. He was so absorbed in study that he forgot about his carvings again. Dukaan taught him many wonders that drew him deeper into mysteries of magic. And then Völund taught them to Geda.

Mind magic was the one for her. Finally they found what she was good at. Soon she was summoning crows and sea birds from around the monastery to do her bidding. One day, after she mind controlled a rather large crow, Völund got an idea.

"Geda? Do you think you could project what you see through its eyes to a scrying bowl?"

"I can try, master."

He filled a bowl made of obsidian with water and put it on a small low table around which they were sitting. Geda stretched her hands above the bowl.

Völund watched intently as she closed her eyes and began mumbling a mantra. It was not necessary, but it helped her concentrate.

Still mumbling, she touched the water.

The surface clouded. Völund leaned forward to see better. The water stirred and when it calmed down, he could see the monastery from above.

"Geda!" he exclaimed joyfully. "It works!" He turned to her and his smile died out. "Geda?"

She was still, like a statue. Her eyes were wide open and she stopped mumbling. Völund moved to her side quickly and touched her shoulders.

"Geda! Speak to me!" he pleaded. When she didn't respond, he touched her temple and entered her mind. There he found the connection between her and the crow. According to what it looked like, the crow was about to die.

He snapped the connection.

Geda crumbled onto him. He wrapped his free arm around her. She gasped and opened her eyes. Völund quickly backed out of her head.

"Geda?" he examined her. She smiled weakly and touched his arm, still tightly wrapped around her. Then she closed her eyes and lost consciousness.

XXX

He was sitting on the edge of his bed. Geda was lying behind his back, covered in all the blankets and furs he kept around to stay warm at night.

Völund was tired. So tired.

He had unbraided and combed his hair to try to keep himself busy, but he couldn't help it, he felt so lost. Utterly foolish and alone. Maybe it would be better to stop fighting Dukaan during one of their trainings and let him erase everything in his head.

He sighed and hung his head. He tried everything, gentle healing magic, herbal concoctions with no possible toxic effects, keeping her warm….and still Geda wouldn't wake up.

He messed up. Everything. Again.

He threw a fur cloak over his shoulders and left the room.

XXX

He roamed the library. For so long that the receding light of early arctic autumn slowly darkened into a bright night with lights dancing high above everyone's head. He saw other zealots, studying animal skin parchments covered in writing. Dovahzul, mostly. They were probably studying the thu'um.

Any other day he would be happy and proud that he mastered the technique in mere months whereas the others had to study for long years, but now he wasn't in the mood. He avoided the zealots and roamed deeper into the library.

And there he found something strange.

A door. A locked door of strange design. It was made of twirly metal, upon which rather curious runes were inscribed. He had never seen anything like that before. His worries overcome by curiosity, he reached to touch the door.

Bony fingers wrapped around his wrist. "Not so fast."

Völund turned his head. Dukaan was floating next to him and his thin hand was crushing Völund's wrist painfully.

"Entering that place is forbidden," Dukaan said coldly. Temperature dropped drastically, Völund could not suppress an involuntary shiver.

"Leave," the priest hissed in his ear and released him. Then he floated in front of the door and turned his mask at Völund.

Völund narrowed his eyes at Dukaan and slowly walked away.

XXX

Geda was still unconscious. Dark thoughts crept back into Völund's head. He sighed, gently caressed her hair and then laid down next to her. He was tired and there was no point in pondering about his mistakes.

While he slept, nightmares full of fire and falling down haunted him. That wasn't new, he suffered from nightmares ever since the whipping he received as a child, but this time they got much, much worse. He could actually feel the heat and the agony that accompanied it. After that, again and again, the thud and blinding pain.

And then the blood freezing screams of those the dragons feasted on.

He shot up, suddenly awake. Even though it was cold in the room, he was sweating and his breathing was haggard.

His eyes roved around the room. It was dark, cold and saturated with herbal smells.

He shivered. He couldn't get used to the cold, he just couldn't. He pulled his knees close to his chest and hugged himself. Was this life even worth living? He was cut from everyone. Hakon left him. He left him to die alone. The dragons still ruled over Atmorans, his act of defiance was worth as much as a speck of dust. He bent his back even more and rested his forehead on his knees.

He felt a touch on his lower back. He straightened and looked at Geda. She was smiling weakly from under the heap of covers, her hand still placed on his back.

"Why so glum, master?" she asked jokingly. "Isn't life great in Miraak's prison?"

He felt tears in his eyes. He decided to ignore them and reached for Geda. He pulled her up and close to himself, then hugged her tightly. "Geda…" his voice broke.

"I'm not dead yet. You're not alone, and we WILL get out of here," she shifted into a more comfortable position. Then she noticed something. "Are...are you crying?"

He pursed his lips. "No."

She touched his cheek and then wiped the wet trail left there. "Liar." She nestled comfortably against his chest and rested her head on his shoulder. "You know, just because I'm younger and less powerful doesn't mean I'm stupid, Völund," she mumbled.

He nuzzled up against the top of her head.

XXX

 **4E 198, the Imperial City**

"I can't take it anymore," Bernadette breathed out, exhausted.

"What's wrong?" Zura put her hand on Bernadette's shoulder.

Bernadette looked up into the sky, gentle snowflakes of the temperate cyrodilic Evening Star coming to rest on her cheeks.

"Haven't you heard the gossip? I thought everyone knew about it."

"What gossip?"

"About the Pale Warlock?"

"Yeah, heard about him, but what has he-"

"He's a Boissard. The name runs across everyone's lips."

Zura raised an eyebrow. Bernadette huffed.

"That's MY name. My family name. He's my damned brother, Zura! I bet it's Tobias. And you know what? Everyone looks at me as if I had something to do with him deciding to set up a hideout in the sewers and terrorize the City!"

Bernadette hugged herself. "I can't go anywhere. People refuse to talk to me, sometimes. Or let me enter their establishment. Someone even threw a rotten tomato at me! I had nothing to do with...with...anything he does! I'm no damned witch. I'm not responsible for his actions." Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. "I didn't kidnap those kids…" she whispered brokenly.

Zura hugged her. "Of course it's not your fault." She tiptoed and kissed Bernadette's cheek gently. "People are just stupid."

Bernadette tried to smile. "True. But...you are the only one who doesn't see me behind Tobias' actions. You and Octavian." She rested her head atop Zura's. "But Octavian is a man of reason and cold logic. Not many are like him."

"What about your aunt?"

"I think the Emperor wants to send her somewhere safe, along with few apprentices of the Circle, to conduct more experiments. Forget history research, you know, and get to work on alchemy. Elixirs of shielding, elemental oils, bombs, silencing poison...you know the deal. Anything the...the Thalmor couldn't counter so easily. Or maybe to send her to search for ley lines. We did some research into the topic of glyphs, but…"

The women stood there in the snow for a while, hugging tightly.

"What do you want to do?" Zura asked softly.

"I...I don't really know…"

"What about going back to Skyrim? To the man that writes you those longing letters? You could work from there."

"I could…"

"And I could go with you, so you wouldn't be alone on the way," Zura winked.

"But…what about your brother? Your family?"

"My family is big enough to take care of itself," Zura smiled. "Yes, I will miss them dearly, but...I'd miss you too. Besides, I'm a bard! How am I going to create a masterpiece if I'm sitting in the Imperial City my whole life?"

"Are you talking about the book you dream of writing?"

"Yes!" Zura grinned, showing her pristine teeth in a wide smile. "The most epic love story ever written! And I'll compose songs to go with it, and maybe you could draw pictures! It will be absolutely l-e-g-e-n-d-a-r-y!"

"And you hope to find material in Skyrim?" Bernadette couldn't help but smile. "The cold land of long winters and poetic warriors?"

"Everyone likes a good love story. There's bound to be something. Environment, in the least," Zura waved her hand dismissively. "Besides, the old nordic songs and epics are not bad. Maybe I could find inspiration while traipsing through some forgotten ruin at your side?"

"Alright. I'll go ask the master Scribe to let me...move my workplace. I bet I'll have to send research notes to him once in a while… Go pack warm clothes!"

XXX

 **4E 199, the Imperial City**

The fourth of Morning Star.

Finally.

It took a whole month to get everything in order, but now….now she was set to go. She had all the papers, signed and everything, she even managed to procure a license to handle dwemer artifacts, she had all equipment she needed, and even got a horse for Zura.

"Miss Boissard?" a dry, old voice, almost cracking at the seams, stopped her stride.

"Master Amroth?" Bernadette turned around to face an ancient Bosmer. He was so old his back was bent, his skin looked like dark, wrinkled leather and his beard and eyebrows were long, milk white and bushy. He was bald, though. He wore rather thick oculars, a simple grey robe and walked with the help of a cane. There was also a rather heavy looking satchel hanging over his shoulder.

"I heard you were leaving, dear girl," he slowly shuffled to her side.

"I am, master. I need someplace...quiet...to continue my work."

"That you do, dear girl, that you do." He coughed a little. "I brought you a little gift, a little something for my favourite student," he took the satchel off and offered it to Bernadette.

She took it. "Thank you, master Amroth."

He winked at her. "A little something to remind you that machines are not everything there is to life," he smiled warmly, "and that the stars are always with us."

Bernadette's jaw dropped once she looked inside. "An...astrolabe?"

"And some dusty old tomes with interesting words in them. Charts...and some more toys to watch the sky with," the old man chuckled. "Keep the astrolabe close, dear girl. It will show you the way in the darkness to come."

"Thank you, master Amroth," Bernadette squeezed out, her voice trembling with emotion.

XXX

"Ugh. I never thought that riding a horse would be _this_ unpleasant!"

"It will get better, don't worry," Bernadette looked over her shoulder. Zura was sitting on the grulla gelding Bernadette had bought her, looking rather uncomfortable. Luckily the horse was timid and contentedly followed Zephyr's lead.

Bernadette patted the muscled neck of her spirited stallion. Zephyr tossed his elegant head, eager to run. She shushed him a bit. There will be time for that later.

The jackdaw nestled more comfortably on her shoulder.

"I think my butt is going to fall off," Zura complained.

XXX

"Bruma. We'll rest here, then head for the Pale Pass."

"Good. I'm freezing, I could do with some warmth."

"Pale Pass will be worse."

"I meant the resting!"

XXX

Once Bernadette put the horses into the stables and paid for their accommodation, she dropped Zura in the Jerall View Inn. Favourite stop of Flavia's, for the excellent service and good food. Also the bathhouse situated in the warmed up cellar of the inn.

After dinner she left Zura soaking in a bathtub and went for a walk around Bruma. She was bundled up in a thick green robe, parted in the front, leather cuirass and lots, lots of furs. She wasn't exactly built for the cold, but, by the Divines, she did enjoy the crisp mountain air.

She looked like a cupboard in all those furs, though. Or a bear.

Whatever. She wouldn't let it ruin her good mood.

Especially since no-one pestered her about her brothers.

She only heard some gossip here and there. Evidently another of her brothers joined Tobias, and a third was pursuing them to bring them to justice. That would surely be Etienne, the knight in shining armour, two years younger than she was.

That would probably leave Francois as the only one remaining at the estate, since nothing else than finances and keeping the estate running interested him.

So Morwan teamed up with Tobias.

Well, it was to be expected. The youngest of her brothers always admired the firstborn.

"I hope you're well, mother. All this must be hard on you," Bernadette whispered to the jackdaw on her shoulder. It turned its silvery eyes at her, but said nothing.

XXX

"What's taking them so long?" Zura complained. She shifted in a vain attempt to make herself more comfortable in the saddle.

"They're checking our papers, Zura," Bernadette commented. "Air is getting more and more tense in Skyrim, so we have to endure extra controls on the borders."

"But I'm cold," Zura frowned and stuck her hands into the sleeves of her coat.

XXX

"What do you think could rhyme nicely with 'freezing their asses off'?"

Bernadette sighed. "Helgen is just a bit further away, Zura. We'll have mead with juniper berries and you'll forget all about the cold."

Zura grumbled something very vulgar in khajiiti language.

XXX

"Welcome to Whiterun," Bernadette unlocked Breezehome's door. The city was dark, since they arrived almost too late to get inside before the guards shut the gate tight for the night. The air was a bit warmer here than in the mountains, but not much. The wind carried a faint scent of lavender, though. People probably burned it in their homes to keep evil at bay.

"I didn't think I'd see a place so flat in Skyrim," Zura flashed her teeth and hurried inside.

"That's the tundra for you," Bernadette smiled. "But it's not that flat, not everywhere. Just you wait, I'll find a reason to go to the Reach and you'll see something you won't ever forget."

"I've already gathered enough material about tedious travels for my heroes, thank you," Zura pulled her hood down. "Are we going to eat something? I'm starving."

"Sure. Just put the things here, by the fireplace, and let's go to the Bannered Mare."

"You won't cook?" Zura looked disappointed.

"I'm too lazy and tired for that."

XXX

The Bannered Mare wasn't entirely full, but there were enough people. Zura immediately perked up at the sight of the fire burning bright in the pit in the center of the inn and hurried to it. Bernadette went to Hulda and after a while made her way to Zura.

"Finally warm?" she patted the Khajiit's shoulder.

"By Mara, yes!"

As they ate, Bernadette's eyes kept darting around the inn.

"Looking for someone?" Zura mumbled with her mouth full.

Before Bernadette had chance to answer, someone entered their conversation. "If you're looking for the twins, they don't come here anymore."

"Olfina. Hello," Bernadette smiled. It was not a smile Zura was used to, it was a bit...forced. "Why?"

The white haired woman shrugged and put a mug with hot tea on the bench next to Zura. "I don't know. One day they just stopped coming. You can barely see them outside the mead hall. Any of them, really, maybe except that awful drunkard."

"I could go pay them a visit…" Bernadette mused thoughtfully.

"If you wish to get growled and sneered at, be my guest," Olfina scoffed. "That dumb pile of muscle may be happy to see you, but no one else, I reckon. Like I said, the whole place changed. And their new whelps took to that change. Except the drunkard."

"Don't you talk about Farkas like that," Bernadette frowned.

Olfina wrinkled her nose, looked down at Bernadette over it and left.

"And….she's supposed to be your friend?" Zura whispered once Olfina was a safe distance away.

"I….I thought so…"

XXX

Two figures were sitting on the benches by the hall of the dead, alone in the waning light of the setting sun.

"What is going on, Stein?" Bernadette asked as she laid her head on Avulstein's shoulder. "I saw Olfrid Battle-Born snapping at your mother, calling her a cow, and when I went in to defend her, he just spat at me! Then I went to Jorrvaskr, to try to say hello to Farkas and Vilkas. Everyone was staring at me as if I were sick with plague. Skjor went to ask me if I wanted to join and when I said that I didn't, he practically chased me out! And...and Vilkas didn't even look at me! Farkas caught up to me outside, chatted a while and then disappeared back inside."

"Tensions are coming out of the closet," Avulstein murmured into her hair and pulled her even closer. "Something happened at Jorrvaskr, and from what I hear, the only outsider welcome inside is Jon, since he can sing of the Companions' heroics. I mean, they try to recruit people, but only while outside the hall."

"What about your father?"

Avulstein smiled. "Nothing could keep him from the Skyforge, not even the Companions." His smile faded. "They are far from their glory, though. Anyway, father is welcome, since he is a Grey-Mane and tends the Skyforge for them."

Bernadette sighed. "And I thought I was running away from problems."

Avulstein didn't reply. He only caressed her hair gently.

XXX

Zura yelped and hid herself behind Bernadette. The Breton growled and hit the bandit attacking them with her sword.

"Throw the grenade!" she shouted.

Zura, shivering behind her tall friend, took out a round object. She threw it over Bernadette's shoulder.

"Not so close, damniiiiiiiiiiiit!" Bernadette screamed fearfully and pushed Zura back.

Amren's reward better be good.

XXX

"What is it?" Avulstein asked curiously as he looked over Bernadette's shoulder. He tucked several strands of her hair free of the bun she had tied it into earlier.

"It's a crossbow. For Zura."

The Khajiit, sitting on the desk of Bernadette's work table, perked up from her notebook. "Crossbow? For me?"

"Yes. If we keep on going about like this, unarmed and unarmored, we'll end up dead. So you're getting a weapon and I'm taking out the set of heavy armour Octavian had commissioned for me some time back."

"Heavy armour?" Avulstein asked teasingly.

"Yea. I have muscles, you know," Bernadette frowned at him. "Now let me work. I need to finish this as soon as possible. Then go gather some things to make the potions Arcadia ordered...and kill a giant."

"A giant?"

"There's a bounty. I need to pay for our food somehow, you know?"

"Show me the armour," Avulstein pleaded, spark in his eyes.

Bernadette looked up skeptically.

Zura grinned and resumed her furious scribbling.

"What exactly are you writing into that?" Bernadette narrowed her eyes as she got up and went to get the set of armour.

"Oh, nothing much. Just some outlines of my characters…."

XXX

"Now, aim and just push this," Bernadette instructed Zura. "Then pull it here, and after the string is ready, set another bolt into it. Then push again and release the bolt. Easy as pie."

Zura, clad in a new set of leather armour, reluctantly took the crossbow. She looked Bernadette up and down. The Breton was wearing a set of mithril plate armour, definitely heavy, but probably lighter and more durable than steel.

"Ready to get the giant?" Bernadette put a bolt into her own crossbow.

"Are we going to get close to him?"

"If we are, I'm going to take my shield and sword out," Bernadette tapped the hilt of an elegant glass sword hanging by her left hip. The shield in question was a reinforced version of a typical round nordic shield.

"I hope it won't come to that," Zura shivered and took an uneasy look at her light crossbow.

"Cheer up. At least you'll have some solid material for your book."

XXX

"Here, Andurs. Your amulet."

"Arkay bless you, girl! Here, have some gold," the priest reached into his rather thin coin purse.

Bernadette shook her head. "Thank you, Andurs, but keep it. You need it more than I do."

XXX

"Well, I must say I like Skyrim's summers much more than the winters," Zura purred and picked a sprig of lavender. The tall yellow grass of Whiterun's tundra was moving slightly with the wind, reminding her of a golden ocean.

"What's wrong with the winters?" Farkas, currently putting flowers into Bernadette's hair, asked in confusion.

"They're cold," Zura waved her hand.

"Aren't winters supposed to be cold?" Farkas' brows furrowed in thought.

"Yes, but Zura is not one built for cold," Bernadette smiled and patted Farkas' arm.

"Yeah, right, she's an elf, those don't like the cold, do they?"

"I'm not an elf!" Zura bristled.

"No?"

Bernadette chuckled.

"I," Zura tossed her hair back, "am a Khajiit."

"But you don't look like a cat," Farkas said, completely perplexed.

"Not all Khajiiti do. There are many different forms we can take, and it all depends on the phase of the moon we are born under," Zura started to explain. Bernadette watched with a smile. As the Khajiit continued, Farkas' eyes widened with wonder and when Zura stuck her tongue out to show the slightly barbed texture of it, Bernadette couldn't help but giggle.

XXX

"Farkas?"

"Yeah?"

"What's going on? Why can't I visit you in Jorrvaskr? Why won't Vilkas even look at me?"

The man rubbed his neck. "Uh...he's going through a rough patch, and he wants to do it on his own," he finally answered. "You know how he is."

Bernadette sighed. Then she opened her backpack and pulled an ornate wooden box out of it. "Could you give this to him?"

"What's that?" Farkas asked curiously as he took the box.

"It's...it's a set of Rascals on the Waterfront. I wanted to play a game with him...I guess we'll play after he resolves his problems, then."

Farkas gave her a sad smile, then put his arm around her shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm sure he'll get to his senses."

XXX

"Thanks, Zura. Now I need to take these to the couriers…"

"Hello, ladies. What are you up to? Moving somewhere?"

"Avulstein. Hello," Bernadette raised her head from among a bundle of crossbows she was just packing and smiled at him. She reached her arms to him and kissed him. "I'm finishing an order I got."

"What order?"

"Crossbows. Similar design to my own. Elemental oils. Several types of bombs and battle elixirs."

Zura brought a bundle of papers bound in leather and put it on a table. "Here are copies of the notes you asked me to make."

"What's going on?" Avulstein frowned.

"I got an order. Well paid one. Master Scribe forwarded my address to the legion and-"

"To the legion?!"

"Yes?" Bernadette took a step back and frowned. "What's wrong?"

"You are supporting the legion with your weapons?!"

"Yes. Also blueprints, recipes and whatnot."

"Why?"

Zura backed away few steps. Avulstein was all bristled, his cheeks red and his brows furrowed. His voice was loud.

Bernadette narrowed her eyes at him. "Because I am a Scribe of the Circle, a librarian to the Arcane University and the Master Scribe asked me to forward my research to the legion."

"Why are you supporting those idiots? They sold us to the elves! They took our culture! And they'll do even worse," Avulstein growled.

Bernadette's tone grew icy. "I am loyal to my Emperor. You should be, too."

"Your Emperor," he spat, "will lead us all to ruin, grovelling at elven feet, waiting to be kicked like dogs!"

"And here I thought you didn't support Ulfric Stormcloak's little uproar. Out," she pointed towards the door. "Out. Of. My. House."

"Imperial bitch," he moved to slap her. Bernadette grabbed his wrist before the slap could land. Her muscles, newly steeled by wearing heavy armour and fighting with a sword and a shield, withstood Avulstein's strength.

She cinched his wrist as hard as she could. "Out of my sight," she said calmly. Her eyes promised all the torments of Oblivion if he disobeyed. Then she released her grip.

Avulstein scoffed and left.

"What now?" Zura peeked out from among the bundles.

"Now we take these to Riften. Ourselves. I don't want to risk anyone disrupting the delivery. There we find border garrison and leave it with them. They'll take it to the Master Scribe safely." She sighed. "But we won't be returning. I'm not interested in living somewhere I'm not wanted."

24


	6. Chapter 6

**Merethic Era, Solstheim**

"Come on, you can do it!" Geda encouraged him. Völund, his leg and back aching terribly, looked up at her.

"What's so important that we must climb the tower for it?" he growled.

"You'll see." She reached her hand out to him. He took it and let her help him climb up. Then he leaned onto her, as his limp became increasingly problematic, and they made their way to a tower with a staircase.

"Why don't you float?" she asked after several steps. "Your leg is getting worse. A lot worse."

"Don't you say," he hissed through his teeth. "I can't." He stopped and pulled his robes up a bit, then showed his ankle to Geda. A thin golden bracelet was wound around it.

"What's that?"

"It blocks some of my magic."

"I don't have one."

He sneered. "Because Miraak and Dukaan are both fools. They think you harmless."

"Well, I hope that the thing I wanted to show you will help us too," she put her hand around his waist again. "Let's continue."

He leaned onto her and stubbornly kept climbing the stairs.

XXX

A word wall. There was a word wall at the top of the monastery.

"I wandered here once, when you were training with Dukaan," Geda walked over to the wall and touched the writing. "I couldn't read it then, but I thought that maybe you could get something out of it. It must be here for a reason."

He limped to her side. "These usually tell stories of the place they are built on…" he explained. He touched the stone and read the inscription. "This stone commemorates Bhar the Earth-Hunter who sat here still as Earth awaiting enlightenment only to become old instead of wise."

"Huh. That sounds rather disappointing," Geda commented. "Though I suppose messages like that are mandatory for monasteries."

Völund didn't react. His hand lingered on the word "Earth."

"Völund?"

"Don't you hear the voices?" he murmured.

"No…"

"Gol…I...I think...it feels like the wall...it whispers to me. It told me things," Völund said hazily. He took few confused steps backwards and slipped. Geda was quick and didn't let him fall.

She helped him sit down and then readjusted his cloak around him caringly to cover him better. "What did it tell you?"

"I...you know how the thu'um works, right?"

"Yes. You give your vital energy shape through the words of power and thus use it to form reality."

"Exactly. So the understanding of the words is very important. And the wall told me about a way to interpret the word."

"What way?" Geda asked curiously.

He chuckled darkly. "To bend the stones, minds and everything else my way." He hugged himself to keep warm. "But I'll need to figure the other two words out."

"We'll keep training and preparing till you do," she put her hand on his shoulder.

XXX

Geda was sitting by the low table in their quarters. Her eyes were closed and her mind flew with a crow. She was getting better and better at mind control and they found out how to project what the creature sees safely. Geda even came up with a way how to send a voice through the subject of her control.

She only needed to practice so she wouldn't pass out after one uttered word, so they could actually set their plan in motion.

She was getting tired already. She sighed and released the crow. Then she opened her eyes and stretched.

Völund was standing by the alchemical apparatus, mixing something.

She frowned. The way he was leaning to one side - he was clearly suffering from back aches. She shook her head and got up. When the weather was extremely cold or Völund moved in a really wrong way, his back ached. A remnant of the damage his spine had suffered.

Same with his leg. Most of the time his limp was not very noticeable, but when he overloaded the leg, it began to hurt badly.

And he would always deny his pain. Men.

She walked over to him. "Does your back hurt again?"

"No."

She grimaced. Then she poked him in the place where she knew it would hurt. He hissed and tried to steer away from her.

"Then why are you mixing a pain relieving potion and why do you flinch away from me?"

He looked at her from under his furrowed brows.

She put her hands on her hips. "Look, Völund, it is simple. Your body aches. There's no need to deny it, especially since I can help you."

He looked away.

She sighed. "No one is going to think less of you for admitting to being in pain. With what you suffered through, it is expectable." When he didn't respond, she turned his head to face her. "Völund. I'm never going to think less of you. And you are hurting me by thinking that I could. It also hurts me that you don't want to let me help."

"How could you?" he muttered.

"Are you serious?" she chuckled. "The village hag took care of me before she died. She taught me a lot of things. Get out of your robes."

He pulled back a bit, perplexed look in his eyes.

She laughed heartily. "And do get in the bed. Lie on your stomach, will you?" When he didn't move, she shrugged. "Alright, I'll do it myself." She reached for the laces on his chest.

He backed away few steps. She grinned at him. "Come now, to bed with you."

He limped over to his bed and turned his back to her. Then he took his belt off and unlaced his robes. While he was doing this, Geda went to fetch a flask of oil she kept in her small room on the right side of their quarters.

When she returned, she was rewarded with the sight of Völund pulling the robe over his head. She stopped to admire his shoulders and lean naked body. And the hair! She loved Völund's long hair. Especially when it was messy like now. It fell all the way down to his waist, as black as rook feathers.

He laid down as instructed. She sat next to him and pushed his hair away from his back. So soft to the touch! Then she opened the flask and poured some oil on him.

He shivered.

"Cold?" she teased as she rolled her sleeves up and oiled her hands. Then she laid them on his back and began to spread the oil. When she was satisfied with that, she hummed contentedly and began to massage him.

He was wincing at first, but as his muscles relaxed, Geda was rewarded with delighted purrs.

"See? I told you I could help," she smiled. After a while she continued: "I also think we could send a crow to Angma tomorrow."

"Already?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yes. I think I found a way to place simple orders into its brain and then pull away without breaking the connection, but also without exhausting myself. What about you? Do you think you are strong enough to shield yourself from Dukaan?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"What do you think is behind that door?" she mused.

"Something powerful. He wouldn't keep me away otherwise. I was thinking...maybe demon magic?"

Geda shivered. "Demons are evil," she muttered fearfully.

"So are dragons."

She stopped massaging him for a moment. Then she resumed her movements. "True."

They both fell silent afterwards, with the exception of Völund's murmurs of delight.

When she was satisfied with the state of his back, she moved her hands to his left hip. He tensed at first, but relaxed soon. She knew she couldn't do much to help there, but, gods damn it, she would make the most of this situation.

Next she tried sliding her hands down on his ribs and sides. A soft moan escaped him. That one hushed sound almost drove her crazy. She bit her lip and caressed him again. When he moaned once more, she bent down on an impulse and kissed him between his shoulder blades.

He turned on his back and reached for her face. He cupped her cheeks and gently pulled her down to him. She placed her hand over his heart. She sighed. She wanted to do that for so long…

He buried his hands into her hair and kissed her. She kissed him back ardently. Her hand wandered across his ribs and onto his stomach. His hand moved from her hair to her shoulders. He slid it down her back and then pulled her close to him as her hand moved back to his chest. She pressed onto him.

"Wait," she panted in a rare moment when their lips parted, "don't get too excited. Your back needs to settle first."

"Don't leave," he breathed out pleadingly and kissed her on the neck. She purred.

"I won't…"

XXX

Geda woke up. At first she wondered where was she lying and what woke her up. Then she remembered - she fell asleep in Völund's arms in his bed. And it was his fidgeting and mumbling that interrupted her sleep.

She turned on her other side and lifted herself up on her elbows.

Völund was mumbling unintelligibly and making small movements as if he was trying to escape from something.

Geda sighed. She knew he was haunted by nightmares, she had heard him scream in horror in his sleep before. She kissed his forehead and began to caress his hair. He calmed down a bit, mumbling changed into an occasional whimper. He also moved closer to her, as if to seek safety in her warmth.

She laid back down, put her arm around him and pulled him close to her chest.

XXX

Geda stormed into their quarters. "He's training Borgi. We need to do it now."

Völund jumped to his feet and went to fetch the obsidian bowl. He put it on the table and poured water into it as Geda sat down and settled on the furs. When she stretched her hands over the bowl, he sat behind her and hugged her.

Geda smiled, then frowned. It was harder to connect with the crow since she had to reach over the whole peninsula. She began to hum and after a while she connected.

She touched the water. The surface clouded, and after it cleared, they could see the main village of Völund's former settlement.

"See that round house, close to the hall? A bit bigger than the others, dried nettles hanging on the doorframe? Lead the crow inside."

The picture moved as the bird flapped its wings and made its way into the house. It cawed loudly as it flew past Angma's daughter, bewildered at the sight of a crow heading to the kitchen so purposefully.

Angma was just cooking dinner. When the crow landed in front of her, she gasped.

"Solveig? Why is there a crow in our house?" she called out to her daughter.

The younger woman rushed into the kitchen. "I don't know! It just flew past me."

Meanwhile Geda created a link to transfer her and Völund's words. She nodded to let him know that he can talk.

"Angma?" he inquired. His voice came from thin air around the crow.

The woman took a step back, startled.

"Angma, don't leave, please!"

"Lord Völund?" the old woman's jaw dropped once she recognised the voice. "You...you're alive?"

"Yes. Angma, please, how do-"

"We saw them burn your body in a pyre three years ago," Angma's voice broke. "They...they wouldn't even bury you…" They could see tears forming in her eyes.

"That must have been some poor soul who stumbled to the wrong place in a wrong time. Miraak found me. He wanted to use me, so he brought me into a secret monastery where he's keeping several gifted. He wants to use us as puppets, to wash our minds clean."

Angma gasped. "Lord! You must flee immediately! Where are you?"

"Saering's Watch, on the northern shore. The glacier is below us. But Angma, don't send anyone after me! I don't want anyone dying in Snow elf territory."

"We must get you out, lord!"

Völund paused in surprise. "Wait. We?"

"Your...death...left many warlords and lesser priests wondering, lord," Angma looked at the crow intently. "Not all of them of course, but there are those who began to question Miraak and…" she looked around to make sure that no one was listening, "dragons."

Solveig went to fetch her sons to send them to keep guard. She also closed the door and pulled heavy covers over the kitchen windows. "Mother! You'll catch a cold like this. You should keep warm," she called out to Angma while she was closing everything.

"There's been this talk, lord," Angma resumed her cooking. "People don't much like that the one who took up arms in their defense was murdered by the so called gods. Several warlords, mostly from around here, began to train more warriors. I suspect that in their pride they plan to take on the Temple with brute force."

"No, they mustn't do that," Völund pursed his lips. "Miraak would wipe them out. They need priests and other magical support."

"That's the thing. They have it, lord. But too few. Several priests, mostly acolytes, though, have been already grumbling, but always in secret. Mostly women," Angma frowned, "as you can imagine, since they are prohibited from reaching full priesthood."

"That's not enough to defy him, much less the dragons. They must not attack."

"I know, lord. But they won't listen to me, not in this matter."

"And in other matters they will?" Völund chuckled. "What if you told them that you could muster some gifted so powerful that Miraak himself locked them away?"

"I think they would listen. Especially if I told them that the Wolf-brother is alive."

"The Wolf-brother?"

Angma shrugged. "You've been made into an icon, lord."

Völund rested his chin on Geda's shoulder. She was getting tired, he could feel it. "Good. Angma, I will have to end the connection soon. Try to organize the warlords and acolytes, do anything to stop them from attacking now. If you need to convince them that I'm really alive, tell me the next time we contact you. The crow will go with you and I'll speak to them. Also, Angma, could you contact Anzacharedz? We might need her help with escaping from here."

"I'll do my best, lord. Discreetly. Leoferic won't know a thing."

"He's in charge now?" Völund was surprised. "What about Hakon? I suppose that he's licking his boots, isn't he?" the corners of his mouth curled down.

Angma shook her head. "Hakon left. His sister went to the mainland, to follow some warlord, and he went with her."

Völund remained silent. Then he hugged Geda tighter. "Thank you for everything, Angma. I have to go, but I will contact you soon."

With that Geda left the connection. She collapsed on Völund, but she was smiling triumphantly. He kissed the top of her head and caressed her shoulders.

"You are most amazing," he whispered into her ear. Geda beamed.

XXX

Dukaan and Borgi were still locked in a battle of minds, Dukaan's favourite teaching method.

Völund hurried to the strange door. He put his hand on it and bit his lip. Then he pushed gently. The door opened silently.

Völund went through. He left the door slightly opened, as he was afraid that it could not be opened from the other side if closed properly.

There was a dark passageway behind the door. Völund snapped his fingers and a small globe of light materialized in his hand. He dimmed it a little, afraid of being too visible.

The passageway led to a spiral staircase. Völund gulped. He began to descend and hoped that the staircase was not too long.

It was. The way up will be tedious indeed.

But once he left the staircase and went through another door, his jaw dropped. He found himself in a vast underground library. Filled with books. _Books_. He had heard of books, but never saw one before, since they were used mostly by the elves. The Atmorans still preferred parchments made from animal skins or small scrolls, but those were only for the priests, as they were counted among luxury items.

The library gave a chilling impression. Along with the plethora of tomes, often alien looking, stashed in large numbers on shelves of entwined metal bookcases or even in piles on the floor, going way up above Völund's head, the decór of the library made Völund shiver. He could see several braziers, depicting strange serpentine heads. There was no flame in their mouths, instead they held globes of magical light, emitting an eerie green glow.

Völund tightened his grip on his staff and pulled his wolfskin cloak a bit closer to himself. He took a deep breath and went deeper into the library.

He skimmed several books. Many were written in scripts or languages he didn't understand. But some he could read.

He picked one such book. The cover was made of old leather, dyed to a deep purple shade. There was a big rune in the middle of the book. Völund opened it.

"On Oblivion and the art of Summoning," he read the name thoughtfully. He looked around. The library seemed infinite. Books were everywhere, piled from floor to the ceiling high above Völund's head.

Surely Dukaan won't notice if several tomes go missing.

He put the book into his satchel and went to search for more he could read.

XXX

"Völund! Wake up!" someone hissed in his ear and shook his shoulder.

His eyes snapped open. He jerked up and looked around. Geda was frightened.

"What?" he asked. He must have fallen asleep on the book he was studying…

"Dukaan's coming!" Geda hissed. "We need to hide these," she pointed at a pile of books Völund had smuggled out of the forbidden library during the last few weeks.

He shot up, startled. "Help me," he pleaded as he picked up as many books he could carry. Geda took the rest and they both hurried to her room, where they stashed the books under her bed. Dukaan would never look there. Then they placed her clothing chest in front of the books and lowered the blanket over them.

Geda was breathing haggardly. "By the gods, he'll enter any second now! Quick! We need some ruse," she waved her arms in the air.

Völund looked around, then back to her. He grabbed her and began kissing her ardently, all the while slowly pushing her towards the bed. She squealed, then gave in and threw her arms around his neck.

The entry door opened.

"How very predictable. Assign a man and a girl to work together and the outcome will always be the _this_ ," Dukaan noted dryly. "Leave your stick under your robes, zealot, and follow me. It's time for your training."

XXX

"Are you alright?" a tall, white haired woman with golden eyes asked him. Völund scrambled up to his feet and then touched his head.

"I think so. Thanks for asking."

The woman eyed him with curiosity. "The priest certainly holds a lot of interest in you." She blinked slowly. A strange feeling crept up along Völund's spine as he watched the iridescent depths of her eyes.

"Yet you stand unshaken." She looked at him and her lips twitched in amusement. "At least your mind does."

"Is this where you ask something of me? You haven't been very forthcoming in the past two years. Neither were your sisters. Forgive me for being suspicious of your sudden approach," he arched a brow.

"Yes, I indeed wish to ask something of you," she blinked again and her eyes glistened with embers of orange. "You must understand that we have very little affection for priests. Yet you seem...different. Something we might desperately need. Come," she beckoned to him.

XXX

Geda was setting the table and humming quietly. Once the entrance door opened, she perked up.

"Völund!" She hurried to him. "Are you-"

He took her hands in his and kissed her fingers. "I'm fine. Tired, though," he sighed.

She caressed his hair and entwined her fingers with his. "Come and have something to eat." She led him to the table and seated him. Then she brought a small cooking pot and served him stew out of it. She sighed sadly as she watched Völund's expression drop. He didn't like meat. But there was not much more to eat up here... Then she served herself and cut two slices of bread.

"Do you want tea?"

"Is it froststar mint?" he looked up with hope in his eyes. She smiled and went for a kettle and two cups. Supplies got scarcely to the monastery, and froststar mint usually wasn't present. But in the latest shipment there was a bundle of it. She snatched it before anyone could notice it was there, courtesy of the mute maid she had befriended.

"Yes."

They ate in silence. After they finished, Geda cleaned the table and took the dishes to the kitchen. She noticed that Völund didn't eat much, again. He was getting thinner and thinner, and he also often looked outright sick after they ate. She didn't know what to do. How to help him...

When she returned, she found Völund lying on his bed. She sat down next to him and put his head on her lap.

"I talked with the dwemer woman," she told him as she began to caress his hair. There was a certain hint of sharpness in the way she said 'woman.' "She promised to bring us some satchel charges, whatever that is. She said that it 'goes boom.' She'll go underground and then send a spider once she's near." Geda placed her free hand on Völund's chest. "I'll send crows to fetch it."

"What about the warlords?" Völund murmured. His eyes were closed and he was enjoying Geda's touch.

"They agreed to wait and gather forces. The promise of your return, as well as an alliance with more gifted from here gave them hope that they could actually change something, so they stopped being rash idiots. Speaking of which, have you talked to anyone?"

"The wyrd sisters approached me," he opened his eyes lazily. "They wanted me to help them escape. When I told them of our plans, they agreed to join forces." He sneered. "As long as they get to kill Borgi and live in peace in the new land we wish to build."

"The wyrd sisters?" Geda narrowed her eyes. "I thought that the witches hated the priesthood."

"They do, but evidently I am a promising kind of different," Völund commented.

"That makes four. If we remove Borgi, it's five out of ten. What about the other five?"

"I'm afraid that we'll have to kill them. Two are already washed clean in their heads and the three remaining actually see Dukaan as their only ally in the whole world."

"And Dukaan? What about him?"

"I thought we might try to shut him in the forbidden library. It definitely has some protective mechanism on the door."

They fell silent for a while. Völund closed his eyes again and Geda felt him relax under her hands. She sighed.

"I love you, you know?" she mumbled and bent down to kiss him. He murmured in acknowledgment, caressed her cheek and returned the kiss.

"What about your back?" she suddenly pulled away a bit. "Does it hurt?"

"No, it hasn't for quite a long time, actually."

Geda gave him a wolfish smile. "Good. Now you belong to me, and no one else." She began kissing his neck teasingly and unlaced his robe. She pushed the fabric aside and kissed his collarbone. He groaned. Her lips moved slowly from the collarbone to his chest and her hand slid down his body. She found the belt and undid it. Then she reached for his thigh.

As she caressed it, she felt his hand in her hair move down her neck, stroking it lightly. She shivered with delight. She returned up to his neck and began nibbling on it. Völund tilted his head back, exposing his throat to her teeth.

She bit him a bit harder. He shivered and she could see his lips form into a delighted wolfish smile. He slid his hands down her back and pulled her closer.

She gave him several more intense kisses on the neck, then she sat up and grabbed his robe. She pulled it up to his waist. He arched his back. She pushed the robe up.

He growled, sat up and helped her pull the robe over his head. Then he began kissing her on the lips ardently. She reached for his braid. She untied the thin leather strap binding it and unbraided it, all the while kissing him. He undid her belt and reached for the lacing on her chest. She gave a soft gasp as his hands touched her breasts.

She let him pull the robe up and over her head. Her cheeks flushed. He threw the robe on the floor, right on top of his own discarded clothing, and pulled her close to him.

She let him place kisses on her shoulders. Her hands rested on his chest. He reached for her hips and she moaned. She pulled away, pushed him down and straddled him. But when she reached for his groin, he growled.

"No," Völund grabbed her, "no, no, no. Not like that," he whispered keenly. Before she could react in any way, she was lying on her back and underneath him. He grasped her wrists firmly, pushed them down and kissed her neck. Instead of taking her right away, he kept kissing her and moving his lips down to her breasts.

She bit her lip. Then she moaned loudly. She wriggled her wrists free from his grasp and ran her hands through his hair.

"What are you doing?" she heaved when his hand slipped lower from her stomach.

"Making sure you enjoy yourself," he breathed against her skin.

At first she was unsure about the truth of that statement. But then...she bit her lip to refrain from moaning loudly. Soon she found herself completely out of control, fidgeting, moaning and heaving.

"Please," she squealed and clenched his shoulder.

He pulled away, kissed her and parted her legs carefully. She wrapped her legs around his body and pulled him closer, closer…

XXX

 **4E 200, Riften**

The evening was rather quiet. The guards, standing at the gate, were just about to close it for the night. But then they decided to wait for a bit, as they could hear hooves and a familiar voice singing.

" _...howling, singing, praise the moon. I would only pray, morning star, rise, allow me to see my love, allow to sing him the sweetest tune. Morning star, morning star, dearest light on the vast blue sky…_ "

As the two women, one tall and heavily armored, the other small and grinning as she kept humming the tune, walked by them, the guards clicked their heels. "Thane Bearclaw! Good to have you back!"

Bernadette, having unwrapped her protective scarf from her face, lifted her goggles up into her hair and smiled at the guards. They were newly recruited, enthusiastic and she trusted them, since she and Mjoll took care to instill the right fire into their hearts.

"Mara's warmth to you. Bjorn," she nodded towards the man, "Hilde," she gave the same nod to the woman. "I'm glad to see that you're still happy to see me. Keep up the good work," she smiled one last time as she walked through the gate. Zura grinned and winked at the guards.

XXX

"Mjoll!" Bernadette marched right into the house where Mjoll and Aerin were living. "I have something for you!"

Both of the inhabitants looked up from their meal. Bernadette, dirty and tired from the road, grinned widely and held Grimsever, Mjoll's lost greatsword forged from volcanic glass, up for her to see.

Mjoll's eyes widened and she rose from her seat. She reached for the blade, stopping her fingers a hair's width from the weapon.

"Astonishing. To think you actually were able to reach it and yet return to tell the tale," she looked up at the Breton with respect. "Rarely in my travels have I encountered those who possess skills equal to your own." She took the blade and caressed it, almost as tenderly as one would caress a lover. "I'm glad that I'm not the only one around here with a stout heart and good intentions."

Aerin smiled at the women. "Do you want to join us for dinner?"

Zura, up until now humming some tune in the background, perked up. "Stay for dinner? But of course, we'd be delighted!"

XXX

Honeyside was a nice home. After Bernadette had made several adjustments. Like actually making the kitchen operable, with all the utensils and facilities one could need, and placing a small office and study in the place where the master bedroom used to be, right next to the kitchen. Instead she decided to sleep in the basement - there were two bedrooms, hers and Zura's (which had an extra bed in it), along with a bench covered with furs right in the entry room of the basement. There was also a third room, one Bernadette had transformed into a workshop/treasury.

She redecorated the house to feel more warm and homely. Carpets, nice wooden furniture, embroidered pillows, a piece of art on the walls here and there... Every time she could, she would put vases with flowers inside, and kept airing the house profusely. She didn't put up with Iona living in Honeyside with them, though.

She also built dwemer-like ventilation, so there actually was fresh air in the basement, even though it happened that both Bernadette and Zura left for longer periods of time. Bernadette also tried her tinkering skills in creating movable bars for her windows and special dwemeri inspired locks for her doors - the trip to Markarth, to meet with Calcelmo, and then to Avanchnzel, where she managed to absorb some knowledge from the lexicon, was really bearing fruit.

In the secret of her bedroom, she constructed three little shrines. She had a shrine to Mara and Zenithar close to her bed. The third shrine….the third shrine she created from a vague memory of the shrine to the Old one her mother used to worship at in the Great Forest. To be honest, she didn't know much about the god, only that he was supposed to be entirely different from the common deities and that he liked to appear as a hulking man with a bear's head and claws.

XXX

"Are you going to work on that spider?" Zura asked sleepily as they removed their gear later that evening.

Bernadette hung her shield and her glass sword, Bearclaw, onto their places on the wall. "No. I'm too tired for that. Besides, the Master Scribe can wait a bit longer. I'm still missing something..." she trailed off as she untied her hair.

XXX

"Don't you ever tire of that armour?" Zura asked as she hurried after Bernadette, whose long stride often forced the smaller woman to trot to keep up.

"No. I actually enjoy the feeling of it," she smiled. Her new set of armour, consisting of quicksilver pauldrons (or, as they called it in cyrodiil, mithril), quicksilver mail shirt, a heavy padded overcoat, covered by Riften tabard, heavy boots made in ancient nordic style, sporting a lot of fur, gauntlets and quicksilver bracers, all metal plates engraved with bear imagery, with a touch of style in the form of a nice forest green scarf embroidered with images of leaves, made her feel extraordinarily pretty. "Thane Bearclaw must look representative," she nodded at Balimund. The old smith nodded back and smiled at them very fondly.

Zura sneered amusedly. "Perhaps you should get a fur cloak. Bear fur, something like the Stormcloaks wear."

"Tsk. Morning, Madesi. I have something for you," Bernadette stopped by the Argonian and pulled a bundle from her enchanted satchel.

"Good morning, lady Bearclaw. Nice to see you back," Madesi smiled and looked inside the bundle. "These are excellent, thank you."

"Have you had any trouble while I was gone?"

He smiled. "Noticeably less. You and lady Mjoll are a blessing."

Zura could hear a snort. She looked around and spotted Brynjolf, putting up his rather extravagant stall.

"Something wrong?" she asked him with wide, innocent eyes.

"Brynjolf!" Bernadette grinned wickedly. She winked at Madesi and walked over to the Nord. "I noticed that one of my locks was scratched. It wouldn't have been any of your little friends, would it?"

"Look, I told them your house is off limits," he growled.

"Good. I won't hesitate to make something really nasty at my lab if my things suddenly go missing," Bernadette's eyes hardened. Then she smirked and reached into her pack. "I brought something for you, Brynjolf."

He took a small flask from her. "What is it?" he asked with suspicion.

"Genuine falmer blood," she grinned. "Drained from a falmer witch. Slit her throat with Fang and caught the blood, just for you," she moved her hip seductively. The movement also drew attention to the dagger hanging on her belt. "Now you can make potions with some _kick_. Oh, and I brought this, so you could see that I wasn't kidding," she pulled a leather strap from the satchel. Two stinking wrinkled pale elven ears were hanging from it, dried blood staining them on the place where they would attach to the head. The shape and colour didn't match those of any of the mer commonly found in the provinces of Tamriel.

"You're insane," the man frowned.

Bernadette laughed heartily as she walked away.

XXX

"We haven't visited any nordic ruin in a while," Zura mused as she ran her fingers across the strings of her lyre.

"No time for that, sadly," Bernadette sighed and resumed poking into the spider. With the knowledge from the lexicon and what she had seen in the animonculory in Avanchnzel, she almost, almost knew what to do to make the construct work. Almost. "The Master Scribe wants me to create more new things for him to present to the legion. You know...with Ulfric on the move and everything...I also actually have some responsibilities as a thane. If I remember correctly, the good jarl wanted me to train the guards myself, at least a bit." She looked at her astrolabe, placed safely on a shelf, with sadness.

Zura stopped strumming the strings for a while. Then she waved her hand dismissively. "Nah. I won't put that into the book. Boring."

"Have you actually started writing yet?"

"No, not really. I have a lot of ideas, though, and all of them are kept safely in my notebook," the Khajiit smiled.

XXX

"You have a shield, for Mara's love! Block with it!" Bernadette growled as she attacked the recruit with her usual ferocity.

Zura was sitting on a stump and scribbling into her notebook.

XXX

"All right, listen up. The bandit den is right over there. I'm here to make sure that all of you make it back in one piece, but that's it. You have to do the work this time. Bjorn?"

The guard stepped up. "Looks like a shoddy cave hideout. Probably no escape route. But, just in case - Hilde, Rosvar, go around and look for a side entrance."

Bernadette nodded contentedly as she watched him give more orders. The bandits won't know what hit them.

XXX

"I think we've deserved another trip," Bernadette smiled at Zura after she handed ice wraith teeth to Marise. The dunmer woman smiled at Bernadette and gave her a nice steak in exchange for the teeth. "The unit I've been training seems so be doing just fine. I even asked Balimund to make special armour, and a bit lighter versions of my crossbow, for them. Cost me a lot of money, though. I must look for more collectors. You wouldn't believe what some people are willing to pay for the things we pull out of various ruins."

"I would, I manage our household money," Zura purred. "That's why I never complain when you pile those things into my hands. I hope I won't have to do much fighting, though?" she inquired as they made their way to Honeyside.

Bernadette sighed. "I made you a crossbow."

"But I'm not a fighter! I loathe killing."

"You haven't actually killed anyone yet."

"My point exactly! So...how about we hire some help? A mage, perhaps?"

Bernadette bristled. "We don't need a mage!"

"True, we don't _need_ a mage, but we could use one."

XXX

"Welcome, my thane," Talen-Jei smiled at Bernadette, "here for a meal, or just few drinks?"

"I'm too lazy to cook today," she smiled at the Argonian. "What about the amethyst band? Did she like it?"

Talen-Jei smiled and nodded. "Have a seat and I'll be with you shortly."

Zura peeked from behind Bernadette's back. "I see you still don't have a bard staying here. Mind if I take the stage for tonight?"

"Go ahead," Keerava called out from the counter.

Bernadette sat down. After she ordered dinner for her and Zura, she leaned back in her chair to listen to Zura's singing.

" _I came to the woods one morning, one morning, and I saw a dancing bear. He was hopping and turning and swirling, all to the tune of a pale maiden fair…_ "

A lively song. People in the tavern began to sing along, some of them even rose to dance.

The door creaked. "Excuse me, I'm looking for the thane, thane Bearclaw?" a faintly familiar male voice asked.

"Right over there, sir," she could hear Talen-Jei's answer.

She looked over her shoulder, curious who might be looking for her. Also a bit infuriated by the fact that the voice sounded familiar, yet she couldn't place it anywhere.

A man about her age was approaching her. Tanned, dark haired, definitely an Imperial. Long ponytail, short goatee...mage robes…

Waaaaaait a moment. She narrowed her eyes.

He stopped few steps from her, perplexed. "You?"

"Marcurio," she noted acidly.

"Thane Bearclaw?" he arched an eyebrow.

"What the Oblivion do you want? Spill it," she snarled and motioned for the chair on the opposite side of the table.

"I was told that the thane was looking for an arcane advisor for her dwemer delves," he sat down. "I asked around after a thane like that and got pointed towards you."

Bernadette frowned and stabbed her index finger in his direction. "You were an apprentice, right? You need to write a thesis. You. Want. To. Steal. My. Research," she spat each word menacingly. Then she realized something. "No one in town knew I wanted to go on another expedition. Except…." her eyes trailed into a distance. She turned back to him. "Don't you bloody dare to leave. I want to find you on this exact spot when I return," she tapped the table. Marcurio gulped.

Bernadette shot a murderous glare towards Zura and got up. The bard, who was watching the whole exchange between her and Marcurio while she kept playing and singing, jumped to her feet and darted out of the tavern. Bernadette pursued. "ZURA! GET BACK HERE, YOU SODDING WHISKER-FACE!"

Marcurio watched both women rush through the door. He blinked. He did remember that Bernadette Boissard was a handful, but...he certainly didn't expect any of this.

He shifted a bit to make himself comfortable. Even though he was an independent person, the way he was asked to stay hinted that it would be most unwise to disobey.

Talen-Jei stopped by. "Anything I can get for you?"

"Some ale, please. Is she always like this?"

The Argonian laughed. "Oh yes. Good thing, too. All the thugs in the Rift are terrified of her. She's nice and friendly to us decent folk, though." He looked at the mage. "I wonder why she's so fired up about you."

Marcurio waved his hand dismissively. "Nothing that can't be rectified. Bearclaw...good name. I saw one of the local bears charge at our guide, and it really did remind me of the way she ran after that singer."

Talen-Jei returned with a bottle of ale and a tankard. "She chose that name, but the barracks has given her another one. More fitting, if you ask me."

Marcurio raised his eyebrow.

"The Juggernaut. You'll understand," the Argonian chuckled.

XXX

"So. It is settled, then," Bernadette growled. She shot another dark look at Zura, again singing for the tavern. The Khajiit winked back at her playfully.

"Look, I'm sorry I treated you so badly that now you think I'm here to take everything away from you," Marcurio said in a tone that made Bernadette narrow her eyes at him, "but really, all I want is something that will make me an adept. And will actually be worth something academically. You can understand that, can't you? Useful research. And I promise, I won't ever snoop into your own research."

"What are you going to write about, then?"

"I read the study on dwemer mechanisms you wrote. Did you know the University published it? Everyone thought that it was a joke at first - can you imagine all the snobs at the high posts in Synod seeing the name Bearclaw on a published study? Then they read it and everyone began to sing praises. But anyway, I read it too, and I noticed that you didn't write anything about magic. There's bound to be some magic in those ruins. Maybe I could handle that?"

She looked at him suspiciously. Then her severe expression softened a bit. "Why not. If you think you've got it in you…"

"Ha! Who's judgemental now? Don't worry...I'll evade every trap you'll step into and deliver my research personally."

XXX

"Oh, wow, it actually works!" Marcurio looked at the window bars, mesmerized by their movement.

"What, you expected me to write a study based on falsehoods?" Bernadette let the bars slip into their sockets, making the windows impenetrable for the local thieves.

"You should see the spider in the basement," Zura noted from her place on the writing desk in Bernadette's study.

Bernadette scowled at her as she walked by. "You aren't supposed to tell that to everybody, Zura. Also, could you please remove your butt from my desk?"

"A dwemer spider?" Marcurio perked up.

XXX

"So, where are we going?"

"I read this book, the Aetherium Wars. I thought we might investigate."

"That ruin is all the way in the Reach," Zura mused over the map. "Are you sure we can leave for so long?"

"Yea. Mjoll will take care of business. I talked to the jarl about it. She agreed and gave me the permission to go for as long as I need."

"And...Mjoll agrees?"

"She does."

XXX

"Hey, look, a ruin. Do you think there's gold inside?" Marcurio stopped his horse and pointed to an ancient temple, almost blending into the jagged landscape of the Reach.

Bernadette looked that way. Her eyes lit up once she noticed the outline of the temple. She immediately pulled her astrolabe out to note down the ruin's location.

Zura pinched the bridge of her nose. "You shouldn't have pointed it out, Marcurio, dear. Now we'll have to go inside and copy every wrinkle on every wall."

"Hush, cat," Bernadette smiled. "We're going in, this is going to be fun!"

XXX

"You said something about fun, you stinky she-bear?" Zura growled in Bernadette's direction as she snatched the vessel just in time before it shattered on the floor. The draugr deathlord guarding it turned to the Khajiit and snarled.

"Eeeeeeep!" Zura ducked from the blow of its ebony sword.

Bernadette charged with her shield raised, roaring like an angry bear. She hit the draugr like a rockslide and trampled over it. Before anyone could do anything, she turned on her heel and hacked the creature to pieces.

XXX

"Divines protect us," Zura breathed out once the lid of the formidable stone coffin flew away like a cork.

"What is that?!" Marcurio took few steps back and gripped his staff a bit more tightly.

"A challenge," Bernadette flashed a vicious, hungry grin. She took one look at the undead creature, hovering in the air, its robes and cloak flowing around it. The creature looked back at her and pointed its staff right at her. It spoke words none of them understood.

"Bring it," Bernadette raised her shield.

XXX

"Marc, if you hit me one more time!" Bernadette shouted back as she caught a hit of the creature's staff with her shield.

"Sorry!" the mage called out. "I can't hit the thing when you move around it like you bloody do!"

"Get better at aiming, damnit!" Bernadette screamed and bashed the creature with her shield. It growled guturally and backed away a bit. The Breton went into the offensive, hacking at it with her glass blade coated in fire oil.

"Zenithar smite you!" she yelled out as she finally landed a hit.

XXX

Bernadette was sitting on the cold stone floor. The spirit, guarding this ancient temple, has already left for the deserved rest in the afterlife. Zura was bandaging her arm, humming a tune quietly.

Marcurio and Bernadette were both mesmerized by an iron mask in Bernadette's uninjured hand.

"What could that be?"

Bernadette chuckled. "Didn't I hear you claim you were an expert on nordic history?"

"There is one more level of knowledge beyond that, and that would be master, which I am not," he remarked nonchalantly. "Do you know what it is?"

"I'm pretty sure I do. This creature," she pointed to a pile of glowing ash, "was most probably a dragon priest."

"A dragon priest? Wow."

"Yea. Pretty weakened, though, luckily for us." She looked at Marcurio, who suffered several injuries by the priest's spells. Zura already took care of those, utilising her skills in first aid and healing concoctions Bernadette had brewed before they left Riften.

She looked back at the mask. "So that would mean that this," she turned the mask around, "is his mask. Those are said to have held incredible power, each suited for the man wearing it, each suited for the tasks he had to fulfill. I wonder what this one does."

"Maybe I could help with that," Marcurio reached his open palm out to her. Bernadette gave him a suspicious look, but then she bit her lip and handed him the mask.

He took it and put both his hands on it. He closed his eyes. Soon the women could see tiny slivers of magic moving around him and the mask.

Marcurio opened his eyes after a while. "This makes the wearer immune to poison and disease. Completely," he handed the mask back to Bernadette with a satisfied smirk.

"Har har. So you are useful, after all."

Zura, who has just finished bandaging Bernadette's injury, grinned widely. "See? Was I right or was I right? We did need a mage."

XXX

The earth around them shook again. Bernadette spread her feet in attempt to steady herself. Zura clinged to her waist.

"Can't we go away?" she whimpered. "I don't want to end splattered on rocks."

"Shush," Bernadette wrapped one arm around the Khajiit, "we'll be fine. Nothing will happen if we're careful."

"And if the ceiling comes down on our heads?" Marcurio bit in, his sharp tone revealing a hint of fear.

XXX

Another quake.

Zura's sharp shriek rang through the air.

Bernadette whipped around. The Khajiit was falling down from a narrow ledge.

"Zura!" the Breton screamed. As she turned to reach for her friend, a falmer jumped her and clawed her face viciously.

Zura shrieked again, like a frightened cat, as her fingers slipped.

A hand gripped her wrist.

Marcurio, clinging to his staff stuck in a small crevice between several stones, slid down the ledge and grabbed Zura's hand. Water was running deep below Zura's feet, dangling in the air. The Khajiit grabbed onto him desperately.

Marcurio started pulling them both up. His feet kept slipping.

Bernadette finally got free from the falmer's grasp. She lifted the creature and flung it into the roaring stream. Another hissed and attacked her as she tried to get to her companions.

The stones rattled. One of them moved a bit under the pressure of two bodies hanging from it. The staff loosened a little.

Marcurio tried to pull them up desperately.

The staff rattled as it slipped free from the crevice.

Bernadette bashed the falmer with her shield. It stumbled to the ground, trying to maintain its footing. Bernadette dropped what she was holding and dived for Marcurio, hopelessly slipping down the ledge.

She grabbed his arm. She propped her feet up against several steady stones, gritted her teeth and began to pull them up.

A grunt. Another bead of sweat rolled down her neck. She slowly pulled them up, bit by bit.

The falmer got up to its feet and growled at her.

Marcurio was almost up.

Bernadette bellowed with exertion and pulled one last time. Marcurio finally regained his footing.

The falmer landed a hit on Bernadette's back. She grunted and whirled around to face it. As she tried to wrestle its hands, Marcurio steadied himself and began pulling Zura into safety. She clambered desperately, trying to regain foothold.

Bernadette hit the falmer with her shoulder and sent it tumbling down into the roaring stream, screaming and flailing. Then she darted forward to grab her equipment, slowly sliding down the ledge.

Marcurio and Zura were finally safe, both leaning against the stone wall on the far side of the ledge. Zura was pressed against Marcurio's chest, eyes wide with fear, breathing haggard and her fingers clenched into his robes. His arms were wound around her protectively.

Bernadette hung the shield on her back and sheathed Bearclaw.

Marcurio patted Zura's back. "Come on, kit. You're safe now," he breathed out, his voice trembling a little.

"Why must you both insist on nicknaming me after cats? It's awfully disrespectful, you know," Zura complained shakily.

Bernadette smiled crookedly. It conjured an awfully terrifying grimace on her face, in effect with blood flowing freely from the gashes the falmer had left there. "I started doing it after you picked upon calling me all sorts of disrespectful names having something to do with bears. As for Marcurio, he's probably just a prick. Thanks, Marc, by the way. For not letting her fall," she added softly.

"Your face!" Zura gasped. Her breathing steadied. She let go of Marcurio's robe and hurried to Bernadette. "We need to put something on it, quickly…"

"No. We need to get somewhere stable. My face can wait."

"But...it bleeds so damn much. You might get sick as well! What if it gets infected? What if it leaves scars?"

"Let's just go. It won't get infected. Hold on to Marc and keep close to the wall."

XXX

"So...this is what's causing the tremors?" Marcurio looked up. "Resonators?"

The ghost nodded. "I must have set them off in a wrong sequence."

Bernadette, sitting on the floor with her nose stuck into the journal they had taken from Katria's body and another they found here, looked up. "Shush, I'm trying to focus!"

XXX

"Tsk. Foolish grizzled bear woman. Now you'll have scars on your pretty face. Luckily it didn't get infected," Zura chided as she examined the right side of Bernadette's face.

"I never get infections. I also never get sick," Bernadette murmured and began to play with her totemic necklace.

Marcurio entered the room they rented in the Silver-Blood inn, a tray loaded with food in his hands.

"Don't fret, Zura, I don't think that she's ever going to listen, so it has no point. But look on the bright side," he chipped in joyfully, "she won't have to fend off advances of those 'Reman types' ever again."

"Actually…" Bernadette bit her lower lip.

"We took great care for him to notice my darling," Zura patted Bernadette's head.

"Really?" Marcurio let out a surprised laugh. "By the Divines, what possessed you to do such an idiotic thing?"

"His pretty face." Bernadette threw her leg over the other and leaned back. "And honestly? Nice cock."

Marcurio clicked his tongue and smirked. "My, I thought better of you. Seems that now I'll have to look for traps to make sure you don't walk into one, it appears you have inclinations to stupidity in spite of having a brilliant mind."

"Shut up, mister 'I'm an expert on nordic history,' or I'll excerpt you from my dwemer artifact handler licence," Bernadette narrowed her eyes at him, but her lips twisted into a smile.

Zura giggled and Marcurio winked at her.

XXX

"According to the locals the nordic temple we visited before the ruin is called Valthume," Bernadette said as she wrote the name to notes she had taken while in the temple. "I also heard rumours of another temple, Ragnvald, somewhere north of here."

"And...you're telling us because…." Zura prolonged.

"Because we're going to look for it! It's on the way to one of those aetherium shards."

Marcurio raised an eyebrow. "So you wish for more scars? I can do that for you, no trekking needed."

"Tsk. Fine, I'll go on my own, then. And I'll keep all the money I'll get for whatever I find in there."

XXX

"Wait. I don't think we should open the sarcophagus," Zura grabbed Bernadette's wrist.

"Why not?"

"If there's another priest in there, I wouldn't risk it. The one we got at Valthume? You said he was weakened! And he almost fried us. This one….this one might not be weakened. Look at that binding."

Marcurio, looking around the tomb nervously, agreed. "Yes, let's take both skulls and just...return with more people?"

Bernadette shot a glance to the sarcophagus. Then she looked at the skull in her hands, ready to slip into its place on the binding. She sighed. "Alright. But," she raised her finger as she put the skull away, "we ARE returning here."

XXX

"We've been travelling and delving for weeks now! Months! Shouldn't we go back to Riften sometime?" Zura complained.

"Just...I need to finish this. Please. The forge and then we'll go home."

XXX

Bernadette was sitting by the door leading to the aetherium forge. She needed to...to secure this location somehow. And give it to the legion. Invite scholars….there were schematics inside, metal or stone plates with writing and instructory pictures she could not decipher. Perhaps with Calcelmo's aid she could translate it and maybe find out how to smelt dwemer metal. Or maybe the missing piece to the creation of the animunculi was hidden in there.

She sighed. Maybe, maybe.

Nevermind. She needed to write some letters. And find a way to seal the forge again. The crown was still resting in her lap, reminding her that she had no more strange, volatile crystals to use to lock the structure up.

She would find a way.

But first...she needed to talk with her mother, even if she never talked back. She missed her desperately. She whistled and the jackdaw fluttered to her side.

28


	7. Chapter 7

**Merethic Era, Solstheim**

Völund watched as the reality split and a construct made of stone and lightning stepped out of a doorway made out of purple magical energies.

Geda shivered and reached for his hand.

Völund mentally ordered the atronach to move to the side. It obeyed. He smiled wickedly and ran his thumb along Geda's hand.

"I think we're ready, Geda."

She looked at him. "Should I set the charges?"

"No, not yet. But gather the people and the wyrd sisters. Then set the charges and keep them safe from our adversaries."

"Must you go down there again?" she nuzzled her nose against his neck.

"We know he's watching me specifically. I'll lure him there and then shut the door." He caressed Geda's hair. "Keep the charges safe long enough for me to get out. I doubt I could stand up to him were he at the peak of his power."

"Aren't you supposed to _comfort_ me before running into danger's arms?" she scowled at him.

"Don't worry. I'm the one Miraak wanted harnessed, I can take care of myself," he smiled. But it was a forced smile.

"Kiss me," she ordered him.

He obeyed.

XXX

The forbidden library was not quiet this time. Once Völund entered, he noticed a strange, resonating hum. It vibrated through his chest and pulled him forward.

It also shook him to the very core. He tightened his grip on the wolf staff nervously and continued.

The library was...different. As he walked through it, it changed shape, sometimes it shut a path in front of him, other time it directed him elsewhere.

The hum was getting stronger.

And finally….Völund found the source of that ethereal dread.

There was a book. A big, black book, lying on a pedestal. It felt evil. With every step he took towards it, the urge to turn around and flee intensified.

When he saw the cover, he froze and his eyes widened.

 _The Woodland Man_. It was his. The library was his. The worst of all demons, lurking in shadows of the world, listening to whispered secrets, prying the deepest truths from men's souls.

He took several steps back, shivering. He hit something.

Völund jumped forward and whirled around. When he realized that the thing he backtracked into was Dukaan, he set his staff down.

The bottomless black pits of the priest's eyes watched him through the narrow slits in his mask with interest.

Dukaan floated a bit closer. "So, how are you enjoying the library, Völund? Have you found what you needed?" He chuckled. "Oh, you didn't have to bother with hiding. I knew you entered the moment you set foot here."

Völund took a step back, but was careful not to backtrack into the book. "Why forbid me to enter if you wanted me to?"

"Because you wouldn't be worth it if you were stopped by an interdiction," Dukaan whispered malevolently.

"Have you shown the door to anyone else?"

"The sisters were promising. But they, unlike you, heeded my warning." Dukaan floated around Völund and examined him carefully from all sides. "No, they were not ready. You…" he clicked his tongue, "you desire power. You covet it with every piece of your exceptional soul, do you not? You are willing to go anywhere to achieve it."

Dukaan reached for Völund's chin. He recoiled from the priest's touch.

"Knowledge is power. You know that," Dukaan continued. "What my master offers is knowledge beyond your imagination. Power to do anything your heart desires," he floated to the book as he spoke and caressed its cover.

"I will not serve that...that….demon!" Völund spat. "I will not serve anyone!"

Dukaan opened the book and looked at Völund. "Just one look…"

Völund backtracked, shaking his head resolutely. He gripped his staff and pointed it at Dukaan.

"Such a shame," the priest snapped his fingers. The reality split.

Völund's eyes widened. What stepped out of those tears were not dremoras. Nor atronachs. No. Those were hideous atrocities made of rags, tentacles, bony arms and unpleasant toothy maw in place where their stomachs were supposed to be.

"FUS RO DAH!" Völund shouted. The force wave pushed the monsters and Dukaan away from him.

He bolted.

But as he hastily limped through the library, it changed its shape to prevent his escape.

A wave of energy flew through him with a hum. He screamed in agony and crumpled to the ground, landing on his bad hip. He groaned. But there was no time for weakness. Völund rolled away and turned his staff at his assailants. With a scream of anger, he released lightning.

Several bolts flew from the tip of his staff. With a crack the bolts hit one of the frightening monsters. The creature screeched. Its body turned to ash and the rags covering it fell to the floor. A book landed next to them with a thud.

Völund raised a ward to protect himself from another humming wave of energy. He dispatched the other creature with a quick crack of a lightning whip.

He scrambled to his feet. His left hip was beginning to hurt considerably.

A blast of frost hurled towards him. He spun his staff. The blast hit a ward that formed in front of him at the last moment.

Völund screamed and blasted a shock nova. It flew through the library. Books were thrown into the air, some of them caught fire or were incinerated. Dukaan fell to the ground once the blast hit him.

The whole library shook.

Völund fired several more bolts into the priest before he could get up. Two of them hit a quickly raised ward.

Dukaan waved his free hand. The reality split again, but this time...this time many more ragged creatures entered the world. And after them…

Völund's eyes widened and his spirit dropped. Huge, lurching monsters with ugly serpentine heads stomped out of the split.

"TIID KLO UL!"

Time slowed down around Völund. He could see the reality as if through smoky glass, slowed down to a bare minimum.

He turned around. Limping as fast as he could, he ran for the entrance.

But the library wouldn't have it. With a threatening, deep hum it changed shape again. Völund reached his hand helplessly towards the door he was pulled away from.

"WULD NAH KEST!"

This helped. He darted through the hallway. But too fast - he hit the wall next to the door. He felt a sharp sting of pain in his back.

The time was beginning to turn back to normal. Völund reached for the door.

An invisible force lifted him up and slammed him to the wall. Before he could even scream, it lifted him again and smashed him to the floor. His back exploded in excruciating pain.

"You thought you could defeat me?" Dukaan chuckled. "Your arrogance knows no bounds, boy." He pushed Völund down with more strength. He cried out as new waves of pain went through his back and leg.

"I made you," Dukaan pushed at him again, nearly crushing his ribs. "I know your every weakness, fool."

Völund didn't even have energy to scream when few of his ribs cracked.

Dukaan lifted him up so he could touch his temples. The monsters gathered behind their master, eyeing Völund hungrily.

"The power of your soul will be mine," Dukaan whispered as he put his fingers on Völund's temples.

Breathing hurt. His head was throbbing. What now, what now? He felt the sneaky, sharp presence of Dukaan's mind creeping into his own…

Maybe he should try one of the combinations for the new shout? He had several ideas...time to pick one!

Völund took a shaky breath.

"GOL HAH DOV!"

And it worked.

A colourful twirl of warm energies swirled through the library. The library itself stopped moving immediately. Even the hum died out. As for Dukaan and his monsters - the priest fell to the ground and stayed there, twitching. The monsters turned to Völund, expectation in their frightening eyes.

By some luck Völund remained on his feet.

"Kill him," he rasped as he clutched his staff desperately in an attempt to remain standing.

The monsters pounced at the priest at once.

Völund gathered his remaining strength and slowly limped out of the door. Dukaan has already risen, but he had to fight the monsters.

Völund shut the door with a groan.

The runes placed on it began to glow with pristine white light. Völund collapsed on the wall, only his staff saving him from falling to the floor. He gritted his teeth and tried to summon healing light. It sizzled and died out.

Damn it.

But it was expectable. Pain like this shattered the concentration needed to cast spells.

He could hear the battle beyond the door. Time to move.

XXX

"Völund!"

He lifted his gaze. Geda was hurrying to him. She almost fell down the stairs.

"What happened?" she knelt down to him.

"Ribs…" he groaned weakly. Geda unlaced his robe and examined his chest quickly. Her hands lit with healing light and she put them on his skin.

He felt as the bones knitted back to their intended form.

"What else?" she inquired worriedly. "Your back? Leg? Any other injuries?"

Feeling a bit better, he hushed her away. "We need to leave. Now," he hissed through his teeth. "Help me up."

Geda obeyed, even though she disapproved. She pulled him up and then let him lean on her. She basically dragged him up the stairs.

Once they left the staircase, Geda shut the door. The runes here also lit with white light, albeit more gently than those on the door on the other end.

Völund gathered himself and leaned on his staff. The pain in his back was debilitating, and his hip wasn't much better.

"Let me help you, you stupid stubborn man!" Geda reached her hands out to him.

"No," he gritted his teeth and limped forward. "Later."

Geda threw her arms into the air and hurried after him.

XXX

The other zealots were dead. The sisters saw to it. Once Völund and Geda arrived, they detonated the charges.

The blast almost leveled the whole monastery.

The group survived only thanks to a protective dome raised by the sisters.

Once the integrity of the monastery was destroyed, the bracelets around their ankles broke apart and fumbled from their ankles.

Völund drank a potion that would numb his pain, not erasing it, but forcing the body away from it for a time. His stomach revolted and he had a hard time keeping the potion down.

But now was not the time. They needed to get as far away as possible.

XXX

The sisters were depleted of magicka and exhausted as well. The group had to stop.

They were still high in the mountains. It was early autumn, the snow was thick and the winds mercilessly cold. Luckily, Geda found a small cave among the rocks.

Once everyone was inside, she sealed the entrance with a ward, stopping the howling wind from entering. Then she checked that everyone was relatively well. She told the servants that went with them to prepare something to eat and gave them a herbal mix to help everyone ward off the cold. Völund's invention,

Once she made sure the sisters were alright, she went to take care of Völund. She chased one of the servants, a young woman, away from him with a fury of a bear, then turned a gentle smile to him.

XXX

They wandered through the mountains for days, only the magic of the sisters and Völund keeping them alive.

They managed to get lower, but they weren't out yet. They didn't even know what direction was the right one, because no one knew where exactly the monastery had been and what was the nearest settlement.

Luckily the Snow elves didn't care about them.

XXX

"I can't hold it up anymore," the youngest sister breathed out and dropped to her knees. The protective dome, keeping their group safe, rippled and became thinner.

A spear stuck through the dome.

"We need to do something about those infernal rieklings!" the oldest sister growled. "We can't just hope to pass through them covered by the dome!"

Völund, who kept the dome up until recently, tried to calm his breath a little. Then he aimed his staff at the biggest target shakily. A lightning whip flew from the tip.

It wound around a bristleback boar and its rider. Völund jerked it up. The whip moved and took the rider with it. Völund directed it through the riekling army.

But he was too weak and there were too many blue assailants. The whip soon sizzled and dispersed.

"HRAWAAAAAAA!" the army cheered. They attacked the protective dome with renewed vigor.

When it was on verge of breaking down, a loud howl resounded.

Several other voices joined it.

The rieklings looked around to try to find source of the howling, fear in their eyes.

The snow erupted. Huge ice wolves attacked the rieklings. Their paws scattered the glistening snow. Fangs flashed. Blood was drawn.

The rieklings fled soon.

Once the snow settled, the wolves gathered in front of Völund, standing just behind the fidgeting energy of the dome. The pack was unnaturally numerous, and many of the wolves were so large that a bear would stand no chance against them.

The last sister gave out. With a sigh she released her magicka and the dome dispersed.

All eyes were glued to the wolves.

The leader of the pack walked to Völund majestically. The man looked at the she-wolf and bowed his head.

"Thank the Wolf-mother," he breathed out in relief as the she-wolf bowed in response.

XXX

The wolves led them down the mountains. The pack moved around them, never seen, but always near, ready to protect them. Only the leader remained in sight, keeping eye at Völund and making sure that the priest was still following her.

They even found shelter for their human charges, and every morning there was a fresh kill for them to cook.

After several more days, they finally left the mountains.

XXX

They were nearing a settlement. Once close enough, most of the wolves left them, forming their original packs and disappearing in the forest. Only several of the largest wolves stayed with the group.

Some of those who stayed fell behind and began to howl. Evidently to anounce their coming. Soon after the howls resounded, a group of warriors led by a floating priest appeared among the trees.

Völund scanned the nearing group quickly. Were they enemies or allies?

Certainly the wolves wouldn't save them just to take them to their enemies, would they?

A great weight lifted from his chest once he noticed Angma walking among several female acolytes.

He stopped his group. The wolves distanced themselves from the humans, but remained visible. Völund straightened his back. He grimaced, as a sharp pang of pain was an immediate response to the movement, but he knew he needed to look presentable.

The other group stopped not far from them.

The sisters and Geda positioned themselves in front of their frightened people.

Völund took time to examine those standing before him. Then he slowly set out to meet them. He was limping heavily, but there was nothing he could do about it.

He stopped not far from the two leading figures. He looked at the warlord and bowed his head. "Warlord Ragni." Then he looked at the priest, an old man. "Lord Aslaung."

"You bear the cape and come with wolves," Aslaung noted.

"Have our pleas been heard, has the Wolf-brother risen from death and came to our aid?" Ragni, a tall muscular beast of a woman, asked expectantly.

"Yes," Völund reinforced his voice so even those farthest away from him could hear him, "the false gods will fall."

XXX

Right after everyone left the round room, Völund crumpled into his chair. The council was long and tiring, and the fact that the chair was not good for his back and spun the spasms of pain into crazy intensity didn't help either.

Angma, who sought every warlord, priest and acolyte out, shut the door and turned around. Once her eyes stopped on Völund, she gasped.

"Lord? Are you unwell?" she hurried to him.

"Yes, he is," Geda cut in, slight hint of bitterness in her voice. "His back was broken and he refuses to acknowledge the fact that he has to be careful with it."

"Well," Angma cracked her knuckles, "I can assist with that. If you please, lord," she helped him stand up.

"Would you stop calling me lord?" he muttered. "I'm no one's lord…"

XXX

The women managed to persuade Völund to rest for a few days and allow his back to settle. The army of five hundred, gathered by the warlords, was supposed to secretly relocate into positions in the meantime. Geda would send her crows to scout the terrain and ensure that the movement of individual groups remained unnoticed.

The black birds, though not attuned to any of the gods, soon became a sign of hope and safety.

Not long after the black birds began to lead warriors through enemy territory, the people took to calling the sorceress Geda the Crow.

XXX

Völund was training with warlord Ragni. The woman advised him to strengthen his muscles to minimize his pain.

Geda watched the session with a scowl. When Ragni touched Völund in attempt to show him something, the sorceress growled and angrily stomped away.

XXX

"We need to take the Temple quickly," Völund tapped the map. "Once we hold it and kill Miraak, most of his warriors will lose heart."

"Our warriors will be in position soon," Ragni said. "The attack will be swift, precise and unexpected."

"Good. What about the casters?" Völund turned his gaze towards a woman with whitening red hair.

"Distributed among the warriors and instructed. Some of them know few basic shouts."

Geda scowled at this. She and Völund took to instruct those who knew few shouts on how to use them better. Most of them were women. And Geda didn't like them admiring Völund while learning from him.

"They also know to protect, not attack," the woman continued. Völund nodded.

"Good. All that remains is for us to join the warriors. The villages are secured?" he looked at Angma. She nodded.

"What about Miraak?" one warlord asked.

"I'll take care of him," Völund's expression darkened.

XXX

It was swift. Brutal.

Warriors adorned with wolf fur swept through the Temple before the main entrances could be sealed.

The doors that had been sealed didn't remain like that for long.

A loud thud echoed through the Temple. Then another. And another. First gate shattered to pieces.

The sister who had crushed it shrieked and blasted the priest ready to engulf the attackers in flame with a bolt of dark energy. Warriors swarmed through the door with wild howls.

XXX

Meanwhile, at the balcony at the top of the temple, Miraak watched his warriors fall. He was mumbling something. Energy slowly pulsated around his fingers.

"Oh no, you won't," a voice dark with hatred growled from behind him. The priest turned around.

"You," he snarled. "You're supposed to-"

Völund roared and hit him with a gust of howling ice cold wind. The hit hurled Miraak into the air. He stopped his wild rotations and forced himself to steady in the air. He raised his dragon staff.

Völund hopped into the air. He steered away and closely evaded a blast of frost.

XXX

All soldiers stopped fighting and lifted their gaze to the sky. Two small figures could be seen, wildly darting through the air. Their magic, lightning and fire, clashed with loud blasts and wild light.

A fire nova burst through the darkening sky, only to be stopped by a blast of lightning.

"STRUN BAH QO!" Völund's powerful voice vibrated through the air.

The sky, already full of dark grey clouds, darkened even more. The clouds swelled and electricity ran through their bellies. First bolt of lightning hit the temple. Large stone splinters rumbled down to the floor.

The rest of the energy, however, gathered around Völund's figure. He directed it with his staff and unleashed it with a scream of anger. The monstrous cloak of sizzling lightning cracked and flew after Miraak, who was now trying to escape.

The lightning engulfed the priest. It swirled around like a tornado, then broke his hastily risen ward and ran through him. Being in the air, he took the full brunt of it.

Soldiers began to cheer as Miraak's lifeless body plummeted down.

Völund slowly levitated back to the ground as the army roared with satisfaction and started cleaning the temple of any who refused to lay their arms down.

Völund crouched next to Miraak. The body and the robes were singed by lightning. But the mask...the golden mask was untouched, glistening. He reached for it.

It went off of the head so easily.

Völund straightened up, clouds heavy with thunder still swirling above his head.

He looked down at the mask. He could feel the power locked inside the metal. It was in his hands, now... A droplet of water landed on his cheek. Then another found its place on the mask. And another. Tink. Tink.

Soon the falling of single droplets changed into a heavy rain. Völund, soaking wet, turned around and made his way into the temple, limping and leaning into his staff. When his figure appeared at the main gate, everyone grew still. Only the thuds of his staff and the whispering of the rainfall could be heard.

Völund said nothing. He kept walking towards the main hall of the temple. As he did, people in the temple began to follow him into the hall.

Huge stone gate flew open at a flicker of Völund's wrist. The archway revealed a grand hall, supported by a number of gargantuan stone columns. The walls and columns were adorned by various carvings, telling stories of the past. And on the other end of the hall, there stood a dragon carved throne.

Völund limped forward and then stopped in front of the throne, leaning on his staff and holding the mask in his other hand. He eyed the throne contemplatively, tapping his finger on the mask.

People quietly flooded into the hall. The atmosphere was tense with expectation.

Völund turned around and looked at the gathering. He pulled the cap of his wolf cloak down and slowly put the mask on. It fit him perfectly, clinging to his face without any visible means of support. But most importantly…

He breathed out as he felt a surge of power. His eyes, now hidden behind the slits in the mask, which, to his surprise, didn't obscure his vision at all (it was as if he wasn't even wearing it), darted across the people in front of him.

Warlord Ragni looked at him expectantly, her fingers tightly gripping the greataxe she was bearing.

He pulled the wolf cap back up. Then he smiled under the mask. A huge lightning darted down from the sky, lighting the hall up with eerie blue light. Then a thunder resounded, so loud that the stone under their feet rumbled a little.

Völund raised his staff.

Another bolt came down. This time right through the roof. An enormous, sizzling bolt of lightning, even wider than the stone columns holding the temple, tore through the roof and hit the throne. The stone exploded in a blast of crackling energy. Splinters flew away, forced by the energy of the explosion.

Everyone ducked.

Thunder rolled in, deafeningly loud. Louder than a roaring dragon.

When the air stilled, people lifted their heads. Völund was standing in front of the broken throne, unfazed. He slowly put his staff down.

"WE WILL NOT BREAK!"

Warriors, liking this sudden outburst of his voice, bellowed in agreement.

"WE WILL NOT YIELD OUR PEOPLE TO THE FALSE GODS!" Völund continued and hit the stone beneath his feet with his staff. More and more voices joined into the communal roar.

"OUR DESTINY IS OUR OWN! ANY WHO TRY TO TAKE IT, WILL FEEL THE ANGER OF SISTER HAWK AND THE FURY OF WOLF-MOTHER!" His voice, strengthened by magic, rang through the sky. Several war bands began to chant wildly, stomping into the rhythm and hitting their shields with their weapons. More voices joined in with every word.

"Miraak Wolf-brother! Miraak Wolf-brother! MIRAAK WOLF-BROTHER!"

XXX

 **4E 201, Riften**

Sod it. Sod it all.

Eight times damned Ulfric Stormcloak and his rebellion! No, sixteen times damned, may the Princes take his soul and tear it apart!

Bernadette stomped through Riften. She dedicated most of her time to training more guards, since that was basically everything she could do.

The jarl swore her fealty to Ulfric. And Bernadette, as her loyal thane, had to let this happen. And she had to revere the man as well! Outrageous!

She did. Only in public, though. While with Mjoll, Zura or Marcurio, she plotted, she thought of ways to help the legion regain Riften.

But it was no use. She had to stay in the city and she had to train guards so the jarl could send them to play soldiers in that idiotic civil war.

Had she known this, she would have made her way to Markarth after her fight with Avulstein.

No. She wouldn't. That city was terrible. The only reason to visit was Calcelmo, be it on scholarly business or to make sure he and his tough lady love would get together. She chuckled at the memory of that feat. The old elf was adorable.

She sighed. Did Avulstein join Stormcloak ranks? Probably. For a moment she entertained a thought of meeting him again and falling into his arms….then she remembered how he wanted to hit her and her eyes hardened.

She shook her head and made her way to the Bee and Barb.

XXX

" _...rampant runs the Juggernaut, teeth bared, roaring wild, beware, beware ruffian, run before she kicks you out!_ " a chorus of jolly voices roared. Guardsmen, drinking the evening away at Bee and Barb, stomped and danced to the rhythm.

" _Run, run, else she will kick your sorry ass, run, run, else you'll land way up the Wayward pass. Yeah, take a note to that, yeah, remember, you little dirty twat, that the Juggernaut, our finest Riften dame-_ "

The song was cut short. Words froze on everyone's lips as Bernadette entered the inn. She looked around. As her eyes stopped on Bjorn, the man ducked a little. She raised an eyebrow, then looked at Zura. She was holding onto Marcurio, both frozen in the middle of a dance step. Zura winked at her.

Bernadette sighed. " _Will chase you right out, back to whence you wrongly came!_ " she finished the song.

The tavern broke up cheering. The guards then began to toast to Bernadette. She smiled politely and made her way to the bar.

"You have a terrible singing voice," Marcurio sat down next to her.

"That's why I keep Zura around," Bernadette noted.

"That and to keep your finances in order, to remind you to bathe, eat and sleep regularly, also to eat something different than sweets all the time…" the Khajiit took several dancing steps around Bernadette.

"I thought you wanted to write a book. You started yet?" Bernadette frowned at her.

"Nah. All-"

"The ideas are kept safely in your notebook," Marcurio finished. He grabbed her around the waist playfully. "I'm actually waiting to read that book, kit, so don't take too long!"

"Oh, really? You, read a romance?" Zura mocked him and swatted his hands away.

"Since I thought you were writing about our adventures, I was expecting a humorous series about the misadventures of two idiots and a dashingly handsome hero in robes."

"Tsk. Don't flatter yourself," Zura narrowed her eyes and smiled teasingly. Then she took her lyre and dragged a chair to a spot where everyone could see her.

"My dear friends! Music is lacking and since our fine thane hides many talents in her scarred, muscled body, but sadly singing is not one of them, allow me to step in!" She seated herself comfortably and set a tune on the strings of her instrument.

XXX

"But why else would the soul gem be there? There must be some sort of connection," Marcurio argued. He and Bernadette were sitting in her workshop, staring at the dismembered dwemer spider.

"It could be the starting point of the animunculi life," she acknowledged reluctantly, "but it certainly is not the source of energy."

"Time for dinner!" Zura's call silenced any comment Marcurio was going to have. The Khajiit walked through the door and caressed both their heads. "You two have been sitting here, staring and arguing for hours! Come, come, let's make dinner, then go to the bathhouse and then enjoy some sleep?"

As they rose from their seats, Marcurio visibly faster than Bernadette, Zura remembered something. "Ah! Here, a courier brought these for you," she pulled two letters out of her jacket and handed them to Bernadette.

"Who are they from?" Marcurio wanted to know.

"Aren't you awfully curious, robe-brain. I see you've been spending too much time with Zura." She looked at the letters. "From Farkas, how nice of him to remember me now and then...and the other…from my mother?"

XXX

Bernadette was playing with the necklace made of wood and bone her mother had given her so many years ago. She also stopped from time to time to determine their position with her astrolabe.

Zura groaned. "Today's the worst. We're hauling ourselves into the middle of nowhere-"

"I think that people of Darkwater Crossing would be offended by that," Marcurio noted.

"The middle of nowhere," Zura pretended she didn't hear him, "on _horseback_ , Dibella's mercy, and for what? For JAZBAY GRAPES!"

"Well, even you can't deny that growing nirnroot is an important business. A remarkable feat, as well," Marcurio grinned at her.

"Like Oblivion I can't! It's utterly stupid!"

"At least we got out of Riften and pretenses...right, bear maiden?"

No response.

"Bernadette?" Zura called out.

"What?" the Breton let the amulet go and looked at her companions.

"Are you...alright?" Marcurio asked.

"Yes, I am, thanks for your concern, Marc," Bernadette said curtly.

"Dear, is something the matter? Was it the letter? Did something happen to your family?" Zura asked softly.

"Do you mean besides the whole 'two of my brothers are doing dark magic under the City, third is trying to kill them and fourth doesn't even care' thing?" Bernadette chuckled darkly. "No, nothing else happened. Mama sent me a letter. She was talking about father, about the forest, and how the whole murderous affair breaks her heart. Then she wrote about how I was the light of her life and that she regrets she couldn't be what Flavia was." She sighed. "And the last thing...she asked me if I met the dragon already."

"What dragon?"

"Bloody Oblivion, I have no idea. Look, when I was six, auntie took me away so I could study and so father couldn't just marry me off, like grandfather did with her. Mama, in a moment of clarity, came to say goodbye, she gave me this necklace to protect me," Bernadette tapped her breastplate, upon which the necklace was resting, "and she told me to look for the dragon. That it would be unfortunate to miss him. And evidently it's important, because she doesn't come back to clarity very often, and when she does, she usually doesn't speak about what she saw while her mind was wandering. Or at least she didn't then. But she mentioned this dragon twice by now. And...I can't figure out what it means!"

"Why should it mean something?" Marcurio asked.

"Because my mother is a native breton witch, practicing old magic. She...is a bit of an oracle." Bernadette narrowed her eyes at him. "I thought you knew that."

"If you expect me to say that I don't know everything, you're mistaken," he shrugged. "I just didn't think that, with you being so boring and normal, the rumours were true."

Bernadette scoffed. The jackdaw on her shoulder turned its beady eyes at Marcurio and tilted its little head.

XXX

"Quickly, there's a cave over there!" Zura shouted and pointed wildly.

"Where?"

"Just follow me!"

The three of them, along with their horses, made their way to the cave quickly. All of them were soaked to the bone.

"By Julianos, did it have to start raining so heavily while we were gathering the grapes?" Marcurio groaned.

"Let's take the horses further inside and take care of them…" Bernadette trailed off. "I think I feel warm air from inside. Maybe there's an underground hot spring in there."

There was something more than that.

A large cave with an opening in the ceiling. Heavy floral scents filled the air, insects fluttered and buzzed around carpets of flowers. And, on a cliff above it all sat a tremendously huge, stunningly beautiful tree with gently pink leaves. Its roots, thick and gnarled, spanned around the cave.

The three of them stood there with their mouths agape.

"Wow. Would you look at that," Marcurio breathed out after a while.

"What is it?" Zura wondered.

"I...I think that this might be the Eldergleam," Bernadette said softly. "This is a sacred site to Kynareth. I heard Danica mention it few times. This is the mother tree to Whiterun's Gildergreen." She shook her head. "Let's take care of the horses and bind their legs. Then we can look around and marvel."

XXX

"I want to go up. To the tree," Bernadette put her hands on her hips.

"And how do you intend to get there?" Marcurio wanted to know.

"Climb," she winked at him.

XXX

"Shh! A spriggan!" Zura hissed once they managed to scramble up the path.

All of them froze.

A huge, gnarled spriggan with mauve coloured leaves on her antlers was standing by the tree. It was watching the trio, but otherwise didn't move.

"I think it's fine as long as we don't harm her or the tree," Bernadette stood up after a while. The spriggan turned its glowing eyes at her, but remained standing by the trunk.

Bernadette slowly walked over to the tree. The scent it was emanating was heavenly, slightly sweet, calming, almost like a caress upon her soul. She took one of her gauntlets off and placed her hand on the bark.

"Hey, this looks like a nordic door," Marcurio called out. "Tomb door. Who do you think might be buried in a place like this?"

Both women turned away from the tree. Marcurio was standing by an iron door, partially hidden by one of the roots.

"Wanna look inside?" he motioned with his head after he tried to open it and succeeded.

Bernadette put the gauntlet back on and went after Marcurio. He smiled and hung a magical light above his head. Zura followed suit.

"Do you think there are going to be draugr in here?" she asked a bit shakily.

"Doesn't seem like it," Marcurio noted.

There was a long hallway beyond the door, similar to the hall of stories, only much longer and more focused on the actual stories. There were carved figures, ships, dragons, various scenes and symbols. At the end of the hallway was another door.

Also unlocked and unbarred. It opened into a small entry chamber, half a circle in shape. An erect sarcophagus stood right opposite the door and two arcs leading into a back section of the room were on its sides.

The sarcophagus was open. But there was no dried up body, no… there was a body of a young woman, a bit mummified by time, but in much better state than the usual dead in nordic crypts. It was encased in some strange material, reminiscent of ice.

Marcurio touched it. "It's fucking cold!" he yelped and quickly withdrew. "It feels a bit metallic to the touch, though."

Bernadette looked at the woman more closely. She was blonde, clad in a functional set of plate armour, she had a sword in her hands, resting on her chest, and was standing as if she was to protect what was beyond the entry chamber. There was also some strange script at the foot of the sarcophagus.

Bernadette knelt down to investigate. "Odd," she mused, "it reminds me of the script on those walls we sometimes find in tombs and temples." She pulled her notebook out and copied it.

"I wonder who she was," Zura said dreamily as she raised her hand to touch the ice-like casing. "What heroic deeds has she committed to deserve being buried on a sacred site."

"Hey, there are more!" Marcurio, who already ventured forward, called out. The women went after him.

They entered the main room. A huge, round room, supported by carved stone pillars. Similarly to the hallway, the walls were covered in carvings telling stories. Zura visibly shivered once she entered.

At the other end of the room were three more tombs. Two similar to the one they already saw - open and filled with the strangely metallic ice. The third, in between the two, was closed.

A certain sense of...sorrow...lingered in here.

Bernadette shook it off and went to look at who was buried in the sarcophagi.

On the left side of the closed tomb was lying a man, a red haired warrior clad in ancient nordic armour, with a greataxe in one hand. The other was placed as if to reach for the stone tomb in the middle. On the right side a young woman was resting, also blonde. She seemed young, although her precise age wasn't clear, as the body changed a bit over the millenia. She was probably a witch, according to her robe-like outfit decorated with black feathers and carved bones.

She didn't have any weapons. She was holding a bundle instead. A bundle that made Bernadette's throat tighten, for it was a child so small it couldn't have been older than several days when it died. Her other hand stretched to the stone tomb as well.

All three of them turned to the enclosed sarcophagus. There were, similarly to the other sarcophagi in this particular tomb, engravings on it, but neither of them could read the script.

Bernadette looked at Marcurio. "Do we open it?"

He nodded.

They lifted the lid in a joint effort.

There was no body inside.

Only several things, put together to resemble a body. A tattered robe, blue and gold, with golden scales on the chest and shoulders. Fur lined leather boots, already crumbling away due to their age. Leather gloves, also lined with fur, slowly crumbling to dust. On the chest of the robe rested an amulet, carved from a bone, depicting a howling wolf head. It was in pristine condition.

Then there was a cloak and a cap, made of black timber wolf fur. The cap looked almost alive, as if the wolf it had been made out of could turn on them and snarl at any moment. Also in pristine condition.

And last, but not least, there were two items resting atop the clothing. A golden mask, very similar to the one they recovered from Valthume, and an eerie carved staff, made of ebony and the strange metallic ice.

The mask was cracked on two places. There was a crevice from which small crooked cracks spanned like a web, leading askew across the mouth of the mask. The other crack went right over the left eye. It seemed as if something cut through it and damaged it severely in the process.

And the staff...there was something unsettling about the staff. It emanated a strange eerie feeling, and when Bernadette touched it, she almost felt a pulse under her fingers.

She recoiled back from the staff. Then she tried to touch it again, but the sensation was gone.

"Marc?"

"On it," he smiled smugly and removed the evidently enchanted items from the tomb carefully.

"I'm not sure we should be taking it," Zura whispered as Marcurio sat down with the amulet. "There's a lot of sorrow in this room. We shouldn't disturb them, we should leave them be."

"I think it's no coincidence we're here," Bernadette rubbed her chin. "Maybe this is the way to get to the dragon?"

"This thing protects the wearer against magic," Marcurio chipped in, "and probably weapons, as well...I can't quite put my finger on what the second enchantment is. I've never encountered one like that before."

Bernadette took the amulet from him and looked at it. "A gift to protect their lover, perhaps?" she motioned towards the two ice-sealed sarcophagi. "Both of them are reaching towards the middle tomb. Nords are rather free-minded in the question of whom to love. Were they in the past as well?"

Marcurio shrugged and reached for the fur cloak and cap.

"I'm leaving," Zura mumbled. "I don't want to see you plunder it," she turned around and hurried away.

Marcurio whistled. "Wow. This is some potent resist frost right here! I bet that these could protect you even if you jumped into the Sea of Ghosts."

"I thought Nords didn't need that sort of magic," Bernadette commented as she took the cloak. The fur was soft and warm to the touch.

"Well, one evidently did. Give me the mask." Once he took it, though, he frowned. "It's...the enchantment is still there, but it's damaged. As if the damage to the mask disabled it...but I think it might have had something to do with bolstening one's magicka. Bolstening as in making a reserve so huge it could swallow a mammoth."

"And the staff?" she mumbled as she took the mask. Did she imagine it, or did a slight vibration run through her fingers as she touched the metal?

"The staff….is weird. Look, you know how normal staves work? Right. This one...this one is not like that. It has no spell stored in it. It has no free magicka in it either. And yet, there's certain power inside. I feel as if it recoiled from me, though, like it was trying to hide."

"Maybe it's connected to someone?"

"Someone dead?"

"We've seen crazier things," she waved her hand dismissively. She took the staff from him and looked at it carefully. "Amazing craftsmanship," she muttered. "Hey, I read somewhere that sometime in the past people used staves to channel magicka easier, maybe that's what this one does."

"Maybe. We taking it?"

Bernadette looked the way Zura left. Then she looked down at the staff she was holding. She bit her lip. "Yes. But I'm not selling these to anyone. Could you take what's left of the robe as well? Especially the scales."

XXX

Flutter of feathered wings.

A thud.

Blinding beam of light.

Bernadette blinked, then tried to shield her eyes. It didn't help. She shut her eyes tight. The light still burned right through.

And then it dimmed.

She opened her eyes again.

There was a silhouette in front of her. A man. He was desperately reaching his arm towards her.

A flash of light. It cut through his face, askew across the mouth. Scream of pain.

Flutter of feathered wings. Distant howling of wolves.

A dead tree. Gildergreen. Then a small sapling, emanating the same sweet scent as the Eldergleam did.

Hawk feathers fluttered around her. She saw Whiterun from a bird's perspective.

And then…

Two fiery orbs filled with hatred. Screams. Burning sky. Heavy reptilian body, covered in sharp scales. Black wings, unfurling, covering the entire sky.

"NO!" a male voice cried out.

XXX

Bernadette snapped awake with a gasp. She was sweating. Her breathing was haggard. Her eyes darted around her frantically.

Spriggan!

Spriggan? Wait….she took some time to calm down. Yes. The spriggan that didn't attack them, only watched them silently with its glowing eyes.

Bernadette rubbed her temples. Right….she decided to sleep by the tree, hoping to gain some peace from its scent and sacred presence. She got weird dreams instead...great. She breathed out and leaned back.

Wait. What did she just touch? She looked over her shoulder. Her eyes widened as she noticed a sapling. It wasn't there when she went to sleep. Maybe...maybe the dream was a vision sent by Kynareth? But the gods didn't intervene...well, that wasn't entirely true. Mara did answer some of the prayers sent to her, she did send visions to her priests. And Akatosh fought Mehrunes Dagon personally, even though he had to be called upon by the sacrifice of Martin Septim. Possible only thanks to the actions of Hero of Kvatch, of course. People often shamelessly forgot about the champion and sang endless praises to the last Septim only.

Well, if it indeed was a vision….time for a trip to Whiterun.

She took the sapling. The spriggan buzzed softly, almost sounding content with Bernadette's choice.

XXX

"Why are we in the mountains again?" Zura pulled Bernadette's heavy fur cloak closer to her body.

The Breton, having drank an awful concoction of resist frost before she lent her cloak to Zura, grunted. "We need to get to Whiterun! And we have to take the path of Haemar's Shame, because we can't go through Valtheim, since we belong to Riften and, if you haven't noticed, Riften is at war with Whiterun!"

"I thought Whiterun remained neutral?" Marcurio tried to shout louder than the howling wind.

"Technically, yes. But Balgruuf inclined to the empire in several small actions and he refused to talk with Ulfric. Also he fortified Valtheim and placed more guards there, that's clearly an act enacted to protect his borders against the Stormcloaks!"

"But you took your tabard off!" Zura protested.

"Yea, so no one knows we're from Riften at a first glance, but do you really think we could have fooled the guards at Valtheim? Do you think that my tattooed and scarred face wouldn't be recognized? Or your cat tattoos, with addition to the lyre? I heard rumours about the Juggernaut and the Singing Cat as we travelled. We did some things that made us rather famous, Zura! Like, for example, making sure that the Wolf Queen remained dead! Kinda big deal, you know?"

XXX

"Helgen, finally!" Bernadette incited Zephyr and the stallion quickened his pace. "An office of the Couriers should be here, so we can at least send those grapes to miss Sarethi."

"And have a drink at the tavern?" Zura shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. "I'm reasonably warm now, since we descended, but I'm still very displeased with all this."

"And have a drink at the tavern."

XXX

Bernadette watched the courier dart away. She had sent him with the grapes and then sent another few dispatches to Cyrodiil. With this task finished, she left the office.

Just as she did, the gates of Helgen slowly opened.

Bernadette froze in her tracks. "Octavian?" she blurted out.

But the man didn't seem to notice her. He led his horse to the side, to talk with...a thalmor officer? A unit of legion soldiers, escorting several wagons was moving through the gates. Bernadette quickly stepped out of the way to avoid being trampled.

She watched closely as the wagons drove by her. Stormcloak soldiers...and… She gasped. Could it be? The gagged man, dressed in fine coat? Ulfric Stormcloak himself?

Next to him was a young man, probably bit younger than Bernadette herself. He didn't quite seem to belong there, yet he was sitting in the wagon, bound and terrified. He was a Nord, a freckled blond man with widely open blue eyes.

As the wagons went by her, Octavian finished talking with the thalmor agent. He led his horse towards the small town square, where people were gathering and voices began to rise.

Suddenly he stopped his horse. "Bernadette? What the heck are you doing here?" he asked sharply, but with a hint of warmth to his tone.

"Octavian," she gave him a small smile. "I was...I was on my way to Whiterun…"

He dismounted the horse. "To snoop out more secrets, hm? That's my girl," he looked at her approvingly. Bernadette beamed at the praise. "I thought that you were supposed to be in Riften. Under that traitorous jarl."

"I am. She asked me to resolve a matter...and I took a little detour. I can always tell her I was snooping around Whiterun for her benefit."

"Maybe you won't have to. That last bit of information you sent? It got us on the right track to find the perfect spot to trap Ulfric Stormcloak himself," he motioned towards the square. "Now, if you'll pardon me, I have an execution to attend."

Bernadette watched him march to the square. Then she noticed the dead body, lying on the ground. Riddled with imperial arrows. She shook her head and went towards the inn.

XXX

She made her way to the edge of the crowd with their horses in tow. She didn't want to see this.

Just as she arrived, the first man died on the block. Bernadette shuddered and looked around for Zura. There she was, holding onto Marcurio in a frightened manner, but still unable to look away from the execution.

"Next, the Nord in rags!" an unpleasant voice barked.

"Let's leave," Bernadette tapped Marcurio's shoulder. She noticed the panic stricken expression on the young Nord's face as a legionary shoved him forward. Poor lad, he didn't seem like a rebel…

Maybe she could stay for him, and then leave. She gave the reins to Marcurio, mounted Zephyr and moved so she could be seen by the young man on the block.

There was a strange sound vibrating through the air. But it disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

He noticed her. He sent her a pleading look. She could only smile with great sadness. It was her fault…

The executioner lifted his axe.

And then...the sound…

A roar!

Heavy body crashed onto the tower. The structure groaned and crumpled slightly under the tremendous weight.

Bernadette gasped. Red eyes. Black wings, unfurling. A dragon. A...dragon…

It roared. The sky began to whirl.

Whizzzz!

A burning rock fell from the sky, hitting the nearest house.

XXX

The horses were losing their strength. This had to be enough.

"Stop!" Bernadette ordered and pulled the reins. Zephyr slowed down, then stopped in his tracks. The stallion was heaving.

"Are we safe?" Zura whimpered. She was injured, debris fell on her and broke her arm.

"I think so. There's no more roaring and no more fire," Marcurio, sitting behind her and holding her in the saddle, looked up to the sky.

Bernadette looked over her shoulder. The soldier they have rescued, Hadvar, was sitting on Marcurio's horse. He was dirty, bleeding and hunched over. Her own passenger, the young Nord destined for the block, didn't look much better.

"We're safe here, he won't see us thanks to the trees," she said. "We'll rest for a while. The horses need it, and so do we. Marc? Tell me you know some restoration."

"Uh...no. I don't."

"Damn it. Well, you're probably better at first aid than I am, do something for Zura."

She waited for the young man to dismount Zephyr, then she slid off of the saddle herself. "Hey. What's your name?" she asked him as she cut his bounds.

"Godric," he muttered as he rubbed his wrists.

27


	8. Chapter 8

**Merethic Era, Solstheim**

Miraak was pacing in an empty hall with the shattered throne. He immediately sent people and orders to prepare as much as possible for a dragon assault.

Yet...it couldn't have been enough.

There was not enough caves to hide in, there were not enough priests and acolytes to carve new ones, there was not enough supplies…

People will die.

A hand touched his shoulder. "Miraak…" she said his name softly. His new name. "You've done what you could. At least for today. Come to bed, come lay with me, love."

He let her lead him away.

XXX

Fire. Searing fire. Darkened sky and glistening snow. Screams. Oh, the screams!

He woke up, sweating and bewildered.

Geda was lying next to him, asleep. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He should sleep. Yes, that was right….he needed energy.

He tried to lie back and fall asleep again.

He couldn't. The sleeping chamber was empty. Dark. Cold. Huge. Cavernous. Who knows what could be hiding in the shadows? His breathing quickened as unseen fears crept into his heart. He tossed and turned, then finally got up. No sleep for him tonight.

He grabbed the robe he had tossed away when Geda's kisses made him forget his worries and put it on hastily. His eyes darted around nervously. Out. He needed out. Find somewhere safe. He left the chamber as quickly and as silently he could, not even putting boots on.

XXX

The temple was eerily quiet at this hour. All the guards were outside the building, or by the doors. He evaded them.

His leg ached. The limp was getting worse and his feet were cold. The world spinned around him slightly. But. Above all...he needed to flee, to flee the shadows lurking around.

The halls around him looked strangely familiar. There was a sanctuary. A safe place. He let his legs lead the way, walk the path they had used so long ago.

Soon he stumbled upon a door. He walked through it and closed it behind him. The kitchen was still warm, gentle orange glow of embers emanated from the fire pit. He leaned back on the door and let his breathing calm.

He closed his eyes. The kitchen was indeed safe. No shadows. No echoing screams. Familiar smells. He opened his eyes again and limped to the fire pit. Bundles of herbs were drying up not far from it, hung from the ceiling. He reached his hands out to the wisps of warmth left there by the embers.

"Who's that? Who's haunting my kitchen?" a voice called out. It was an old voice, tired, but certainly commanding. Also strangely familiar. Miraak felt some sort of...hopeful expectation swell within his chest.

A light appeared on the other end of the kitchen. A candle. It moved towards him, as the woman bearing it must have seen his silhouette by the firepit. He turned to face it.

"What are you doing in my kitchen?! Stealing food?" the old woman looked at him with suspicion once she made her way to him. She moved the candle to see him better. Then her eyes widened as she recognised the embroidered robe.

"My lord…" she peeped. "Forgive me, lord, I…" she began to bow down, then to bend her knees.

Miraak's eyes glistened. He recognised her now. He knelt beside her. "Nana," he whispered.

She looked at him, perplexed. Then she took a closer look at his face. She breathed out softly and raised a hand as if to touch his cheek. "Völund?"

He nodded, but corrected her mistake softly. "Miraak."

The grandmother sobbed. "My boy! You...you're alive!" she moved closer and hugged him tightly. He hugged her back and rested his forehead on her shoulder.

"I'm scared," he whispered shakily and pressed closer to her.

She caressed his hair. "Don't worry. I won't let anything harm you. You're safe in my kitchen."

XXX

"Come, come, look, my boy. Do you remember these?" she led him to a counter. White beans, reminding him of freshly fallen snow, were laid out on it.

He nodded.

"Good. Come, let us make chocolate together. You can tell old nana all about your troubles. Lift them from your heart."

XXX

The grandmother shooed her maids. "Don't you dare to wake him," she whispered menacingly.

The kitchen hands and lesser cooks, all of whom tried to sneak a peek at the mysterious man sleeping in the corner, wrapped in furs and the head cook's shawl, scattered about their tasks.

The grandmother pinched the bridge of her nose. Those girls.

Soon the women started to try it again. The grandmother reached for a ladle.

The door flew open. A blonde woman, dressed in green robe adorned with a shawl of crow feathers was standing in it. Geda the Crow.

"Where is he?!" she shrieked furiously. She stormed into the kitchen. Several soldiers went in after her. "Have you seen lord Miraak?!" the sorceress jumped at one of the cooks. "Or any intruders?!"

The grandmother pushed the cook away to save her from Geda's fury. She opened her mouth to say something, but the sorceress didn't let her. "I'm the one asking questions here, crone!" she spat and flicked her wrist. The old woman began to suffocate.

"GEDA!" a powerful voice resounded. "Let her be. This instant." Miraak limped into the light, his brows furrowed and lips pursed.

"Miraak!" Geda smiled with relief. She released the spell and hurried to him.

He shot her a very disapproving look and recoiled from her embrace. "Why have you done this?" he went to make sure that the grandmother wasn't harmed. Then he helped her up.

"You weren't...I thought...I thought that something happened to you, that someone took your life during the night," Geda stumbled across her words.

Miraak waved the soldiers off. "Go. Thank you for your readiness, everything is in order." They nodded, sheathed their weapons and left. "Geda, why would you attack this woman? She clearly couldn't be an assailant."

"But she could have helped them inside-"

"Geda. That's how _they_ would have done it. Don't let your fears lead you astray like this. We don't harm our people. Not without a grave reason."

"I...I'm sorry," she mumbled and hung her head.

Miraak squeezed the old woman's shoulder and whispered something to her. Then he went to Geda and caressed her cheek gently. "Forgive me for scaring you, Geda. But keep your fury for the dragons. They are coming."

XXX

"Dragooooon!"

Miraak looked up and released the spell he was weaving in alarm.

"What? Where?" he stopped the frightened guard, running for the main hall. The woman, confused to find him here instead of in the hall, yelped.

"My lord!" She straightened up. "A dragon is approaching, he's coming from the west, and fast!"

"Just one?" he reached to rub his stubble, but his fingers bonked into the mask instead.

The guard nodded.

"Geda!" he turned around. "Muster the warriors, put archers on the walls, hide the people!"

The sorceress, eyeing the guard suspiciously, nodded and hurried away.

XXX

The dragon circled over the temple once. He roared, then released a stream of fire.

He didn't want to damage the temple, though. The flames only licked the stone roof of the temple, nothing more.

Miraak hurried out into the courtyard.

He shivered as pictures of another meeting with dragons in this very courtyard flooded his mind.

The dragon roared again and then said something very vulgar in dovahzul.

Miraak gritted his teeth and tightened the grip on his staff. No more fears. No more dragons. He lifted himself up into the air and flew to meet the dragon.

XXX

With a scream of anger Miraak cut through the dragon's gout of flame. Then he shot a quick bolt of lightning at the beast.

The dragon growled and flapped his wings to steer away. He already got hit several times and was getting angry.

Miraak swirled his staff. Several gusts of wind whooshed in and threw the dragon off balance.

"FO KRAH DIIN!" the beast retaliated.

Miraak flipped away, his robes fluttering wildly at the movement. The dragon darted away and up. Then he turned gracefully and furled his wings. He dived for Miraak.

The priest didn't move. He narrowed his eyes and pointed his staff at the dragon.

XXX

"Why isn't he moving?" the archers, posted on the walls of the temple, muttered.

"The dragon will crush him!"

Geda, robes flowing around her, stormed on the battlements. "Silence! Don't you have faith in Miraak Wolf-brother? He knows what he's doing!" she barked at them. Once they shut up, she bit her lower lip.

She certainly hoped he knew what he was doing.

XXX

Just a little longer.

The dragon was almost on him. His maw opened, ready to grab him and end his life.

The tip of the staff touched the first scale.

Miraak released the spell he had been powering. A potent wave of telekinetic energies erupted from the staff. It engulfed the dragon and threw him over Miraak.

The dragon tried to unfurl his wings. The telekinetic bindings wouldn't budge. He roared in frustration. And fear.

Miraak screamed and whirled around, pointing the staff towards the ground. The spell quickened the speed of the dragon's fall.

The beast screamed. He trashed wildly, trying to break the spell. Miraak gritted his teeth and descended to gain a better control over it.

The dragon crashed to the ground.

Miraak roared and unleashed a torrent of lightning into the scaly body. The dragon screamed and screeched, his broken body winding up in spasms as his flesh was burned alive by lightning.

And then the horrid screeches of agony ended.

Miraak huffed and landed next to the dragon. He looked at the beast, burned, broken and dead, and as he did, confidence warmed his heart.

"Vengeance," he growled. If only he could hurt the beast more, to pay for the pain his people suffered from his kind...to tear his soul apart…

As he thought about it, he noticed something. A strange tugging sensation. He focused on it. It felt warm and it recoiled from his mind. He set out to overpower it. As he did, he noticed that the corpse began to disintegrate slowly.

He intensified his focus. He took the will of the warmth and made it his own.

The scales and flesh of the dead dragon crumbled into burning golden dust. The dust joined into a dancing stream, which then flew right through Miraak.

He grunted as the stream hit his body. It was power, raw power. He steeled his mind, closed his eyes and fought to command it.

The stream settled in his heart and warmth flooded into him. He felt...alive! His heart was pounding from excitement. He breathed out. His eyes shot open. There were people gathered in a large circle around him and the remains of the dragon. Everyone was staring wordlessly.

He tossed his head.

"We are not slaves anymore."

His words were greeted by enthusiastic howls and cheers.

XXX

Miraak was in the library. He was frantically searching for even the slightest bit of information about what had happened between him and the dead dragon.

XXX

"Nana?" he inquired from the pot he was stirring. His visits to the kitchen in early morning hours became quite regular. To his own surprise he enjoyed being there without the mask, being only himself and no one else, doing unimportant things.

"Yes, my dear?"

"My father - who was he?"

The grandmother sighed. "A wanderer, man without a home. He spent precisely one night here, one night in my Mirja's arms." Her eyes turned to Miraak. "You look a lot like him." Then she turned away. "He didn't even tell us his name."

"So why did mother-"

"I don't know, dear. Maybe it was something about how he carried himself, about his mesmerizing eyes…" she chuckled. "Every girl and woman in here was enthralled. Every single one. But he took one look at Mirja and that was it. You have those same eyes."

Miraak hummed sadly. The grandmother looked up and caressed his cheek gently. "Oh, dear, don't think that either of us regretted your birth. Only the fact that he didn't stay, that he didn't take care of you and Mirja, as he should."

XXX

Miraak looked at another draconic skeleton. He was starting to get better at slaying the beasts.

Angma stopped by his side.

"Well done, my lord."

He looked at her and smiled in the privacy of his mask.

"I liked you better without that thing, though," she pointed at his face.

"I will put it down after the danger has passed," he hummed. Then he bent down to pick one of the bones. "Would you carry this offering to the shrine of Wolf Mother with me?"

"Gladly, my lord."

XXX

"Geda? Geda, love, could you please deliver these to the seaside settlement? The people are ailing."

"Are you sending me away? Again?" she bristled. "Don't you want me here?"

He frowned. "Of course I do. Why would-"

"Then why are you sending me away?"

"Because you're one of the few people I trust completely," he turned to her and put his arm around her waist. He pulled the mask up and kissed her forehead. "Please, would you do it for me?"

"Hmf. Alright."

XXX

The winter was here.

The whole atmoran part of Solstheim was finally firmly under control. With the exception of the rather strange community of hunters up north, calling themselves the Skaal. But they weren't making any trouble, so Miraak decided to ignore them for now.

Several more dragons attacked. Miraak has slain them all and stole their souls. The last time even a small ship filled with warriors came to shore, but was dispatched quickly.

XXX

Miraak was pacing on the battlements. The ground shook. He slipped and fell down, hitting his bad hip.

"Blasts and damnations!" he cursed. As he slowly clambered up to his feet, trying to avoid putting weight at his left leg as much as possible, he kept wondering why did the very ground beneath their feet shake.

It must have been something the Dwemer caused. There was no other explanation, since the land had never trembled before the first tremors several years back.

He pulled a new wolfskin cloak made of black fur, one Angma had given him and he later enchanted, closer to his body. Where was the blasted witch with her report?

A white rook landed next to him. It cawed, then turned to a woman.

Finally.

XXX

"My lord!"

Miraak froze. He was just about to unlace Geda's robe. The sorceress growled.

"My lord! Lady Crow," the warrior bowed his head slightly, unfazed by the fact that he disturbed an intimate moment, "there are visitors. It looks important. Two men, one of them looks to be a sorcerer, the other is a warrior, and a warrior woman. They've asked specifically for you, lord."

Miraak frowned. "I'll be there in a moment."

Geda ruffled her feathers. "I'll go first and make them wait a little."

Miraak opened his mouth to say something, but she was already making her way to the main hall. He sighed and shook his head.

XXX

Hakon was looking around the main hall. There were braziers there, many more than he remembered, making the hall a bit warmer and welcoming. Most of the dragon idolatry was removed, replaced by tokens of the other gods. Only the shattered throne remained, as a warning, or maybe reminder.

He took another look at it and shivered.

Three warlords, standing a bit further behind the throne, and two priests watching them from the sides of the hall, pierced him with their hostile eyes, then turned back to watching Felldir.

"What's taking him so long?" Gormlaith complained. "You'd think that he'd be thrilled to hear he can forge alliances."

"It seems that this Miraak is a proud man," Felldir noted dryly. "He does not like being summoned."

"Indeed he doesn't," a sharp voice cut in.

Hakon turned to look at who said those words. It was a woman, dressed in green robes. She was hiding her face behind a wooden mask of a crow, and she wore a shawl made of black feathers. Hakon narrowed his eyes. Her voice sounded vaguely familiar.

"And who might you be?" Felldir asked, unimpressed.

"I'm Geda the Crow," she lifted her chin. "And you would do well to show some respect. You come to our home, uninvited, making demands. That is not how a guest behaves."

Felldir scoffed. "I care not for manners. Nor have I come to talk to Miraak's whore. Where is he?"

Geda bristled, but a muffled 'thonk' of metal hitting stone silenced her. It was not very prominent sound, but it kept resounding in regular intervals.

As a lean robed figure limped into the main hall, Hakon's heart skipped a beat. It couldn't be... He took an unintended step forward. Felldir raised his arm abruptly to stop Hakon's movement.

Miraak slowly made his way to the others, using his staff as a walking stick. "Here I am, old man. Why do you intrude on my lands, demand my presence and insult my advisor?"

Hakon shivered. That voice...that voice. He didn't...couldn't believe it before, but…

He stepped forward, swatting Felldir's hand away. "Völund?"

The mask turned to him, betraying no emotion. Then it turned back to Felldir. "Why are you here?" he asked coldly.

"I want you to join my cause," the sorcerer answered. "I want you to kill dragons and steal their souls."

Miraak laughed. "What a glorious offer! How could I ever refuse? All I wanted from life was to be someone's puppet," he mocked. "That's what you want, a tool, is it not? I am no tool, old man. I will not be used. I will not be discarded after I stop being useful to you." He shook his head. "So now you come, now that I succeeded at what you could not. Where were you when we fought and bled? I remember hearing about some secret revolt on the mainland, but I also heard it never did anything. Unable to fell your enemies? Seeking your betters to fight your battles? Go back to the hole that spawned you, parasite," he tossed his head.

"Völund," Hakon pleaded softly as Felldir scoffed. He took another step towards the priest.

Geda bristled and prepared to step in.

Miraak raised his hand to stop both Geda and Hakon.. "Völund is dead. You let him die alone in the snow, One-Eye," he said slowly.

"I-"

"But it should have been expected, no? You seem to turn tail rather often. Never take a step unless you're absolutely sure no surprise awaits you. So now you come, a lapdog to another, and ask me to defile what you once held sacred over anything. Even a beloved life." The mask was unmoving, the tone cruel. "Should I bend my knee to someone who cares not for his followers," he looked at Felldir, "depend on those who abandon their comrades as easily as they sit down for a meal," the slits glazed over Hakon again, "and rely on a fire that can't ever mitigate to listen to reason?" his eyes stopped on Gormlaith. "I think not."

One of the warlords scoffed as Miraak spoke. When he finished, she stepped forward. "The only ones who should bend their knees are you three," she glared at the group menacingly.

Felldir turned to her. "So you would rather follow this prideful fool to your doom than go with us and succeed?"

"You bring empty words, old man. What of your actions? You have done nothing for us. The Wolf-brother fought for us, bled for us and cared for us. He, and none other, has my support."

The other two warlords grunted in agreement. "Well said, Ragni."

The priests neared the three guests and one of them motioned towards the entry. Felldir folded his arms on his chest. "An army is coming. You can't survive here. Take your best warriors and go to the mainland."

Miraak scoffed. "Were you hoping to impress me with that _scary and unexpected_ piece of information and commanding tone? I know an army is coming. We are prepared. No one gets abandoned." He didn't turn to Hakon, even though the man visibly winced. "Now get lost."

As they walked away, guided by the priests, Hakon cast one last longing look back over his shoulder. He saw Miraak, adamant in his decision, the mask looking at them uncompromisingly. Hakon's shoulders slumped when he saw Geda take a step closer and put her hand around Miraak's waist.

He turned his gaze to his feet and tried to blink away tears as his heart shattered anew.

XXX

"Shapeshifting is not that hard. You should try it, we could travel much faster," the youngest sister looked at him with a reproach in her gaze.

He arched a brow at her. "And I don't suppose that changing shape would miraculously cure my crippled body?"

The sister heaved an annoyed sigh.

XXX

Miraak walked the battlements of a newly rebuilt and fortified stronghold. He and his priests had built several, covering the landbridge and the path to the Temple.

"I see that you've done a good job," he looked around. The land was overgrown by thick, old forest. The wyrd women had been working on growing Hirstaang forest into even more menacing landscape, blocking almost every access to Solstheim on land. Only one path remained, and the stronghold was sitting atop of it.

"We always do," the oldest sister purred and blinked. Her eyes glistened with flecks of orange in the gold. "We also invited some of ours into the woods. The Old one will protect us. But what do you intend to do with the tremors? The Earth itself is groaning and shaking."

"I was thinking about using the Earth stone."

"And what of the dragons?" the middle sister chimed in. "They can fly, out of the reach of our claws and fangs. They can burn our forest to the ground."

"They won't," Miraak shook his head. "They don't care about their soldiers."

"But if they do?"

"We can always utilize magic," he stopped and leaned on his staff to ease the load on his left leg. "Or try poisoned stalhrim arrows. Stalhrim can penetrate their scaly hides."

XXX

Geda looked through the slit of the slightly opened door. Miraak was sitting in the room, showing other priests how exactly to create stalhrim from the purest of ice and then shape it.

Not to her. She didn't have the right magic skill set to do it.

She frowned, jealousy burning bright in her heart, and withdrew from the door.

XXX

She always had a soft spot for exploration.

She always found something interesting.

There was a whole part of the Temple built into the mountain, and, as it appeared, it was a secret part. It was sealed behind a door she opened by a sheer coincidence. The decoration was completely different. Eerie. Otherworldly.

Exciting.

As she delved deeper into this hidden part of the Temple, she realized she could hear deep humming echoing through the air. Through her soul, perhaps…

XXX

A book. She found a book. A black book, humming and vibrating.

Of course she knew whose book it was. Everyone would know. She didn't touch it. But she couldn't help but wonder….what was it doing here?

Maybe….maybe if she read it, she could be of use to Miraak. She'd be the only light in his life again. She'd kill dragons with him, and she'd chase the approaching army away.

She took an uncertain step towards the book.

A deep breath. Her fingers touched the cover. And then she opened it.

XXX

 **4E 201, Whiterun**

Well, this day was certainly getting more and more interesting.

Once she managed to get Godric into Dragonsreach, she went to give the sapling to Danica. As their little group was leaving the temple, having Danica look at Zura's arm, Godric caught up with them.

"Hey," he rubbed his neck, "I...I was thinking...the jarl asked me to help the wizard, and...and he sent me to a ruin...I'm a hunter, not a warrior, but you are, so...I thought, maybe you could help me?"

Bernadette looked at him. He was well built, and the bow on his back looked like it belonged there. But his eyes were wide and filled with fear. He probably never saw an undead, much less a frightening one like the draugr were.

She sighed. "Alright. I'll help you with that, then we part ways. Marc," she extended her hand, holding a key, towards him, "take this. It's for Breezehome. Zura knows where that is. You two stay here, make sure Zura goes to the temple now and then. Take care of her for me, Marc."

The mage took the key and patted Bernadette's back. "Don't worry. I will."

As they were making their way through the marketplace, Bernadette heard raised voices. Voices she recognised.

She frowned and made her way to Fralia's stall.

"...this old hag? "Holding him"? Why I've got him in my cellar. He's my prisoner. Face it, cow! Your stupid son is dead! He died a Stormcloak traitor. And you... you best keep your mouth shut before you suffer the same."

Olfrid Battle-Born at his best. Bernadette frowned even more, a dark look in her eyes. She stopped beside them.

Idolaf tried to be reasonable. "Come on, father. There's nothing more to be said here."

Olfrid sneered and turned away. When he did, his eyes stopped on Bernadette and as they did, they widened a bit at the evident threat she was glaring at him.

"Has something happened?" Bernadette asked softly once the Battle-Borns were gone. Fralia looked up to her, eyes filled with sorrow.

"Thorald disappeared. Everyone says he died on his way to Windhelm, to join the Stormcloaks. But I know he's not dead, I just know it!"

"How-"

Fralia shushed her. "Let us not talk about him here, in the open. If… if you really want to help... please, come to our home."

Bernadette nodded, then turned to Godric, standing beside her like a lost puppy. "Are you hungry? Here, have these and head to the Bannered Mare, right there, and eat. I'll be with you as soon as possible," she handed him a pouch of gold.

XXX

"Mother, what is this? Who have you brought into our home?" Avulstein growled and rushed out of the door with a greataxe in his hands. Then he saw Bernadette's face and realized who she was. He stopped dead in his tracks, holding the axe undecidedly.

"Avulstein, put that down," Fralia pleaded, "she's here to help us find Thorald!"

He frowned. "How do we know she's not spying for the Battle-Born? This was foolish!" He strengthened his grip on the weapon. "We can't trust anyone! Who knows what they'll do if they find me here."

Fralia's shoulders slumped and she hunched a bit. "I can't take anymore of this. No weapons, please. Let's just talk," she turned her sad eyes to Avulstein. He sighed.

"Alright, mother." Avulstein put the axe on his back, then walked over to Bernadette, standing by one of the wooden pillars. She looked relaxed, but Avulstein has seen enough warriors to know she was ready to defend herself in an instant.

He put his hands on his hips. "So, you're here to help?" he asked. There was a hint of bitterness to his voice, bitterness and something else.

She arched an eyebrow. "I didn't realize you were hard of hearing."

He gritted his teeth and pressed his hands a bit tighter to his hips. "I know Thorald's not dead. I just know it," he clenched his fist, "the Imperials have him somewhere." He looked at her suspiciously, then hung his head. "But I don't know where. Those damned Battle-Borns...they know something."

XXX

Bernadette shook her head. Meeting Avulstein was...not fortunate. But she couldn't just leave a man missing, and his mother mourning.

"Hi, Lars," she sat down next to the scrawny boy, "how are you doing?"

He sighed. "Braith picked me as a target. And all the grown-ups say that I'm a milk drinker for not fighting back."

"Fighting is important, but not the whole world is about fighting," Bernadette winked at him. "Perhaps you're destined to become an alchemist? Or a mage? Maybe horse herder? A bard?"

He smiled a little.

"How about I speak to Braith? I bet I could convince her to leave you alone."

XXX

Well...Braith was not what Bernadette expected. Poor girl. She sighed, wishing she could stay and help the girl, somehow. But she had a duty to fulfil.

"Braith won't bully you anymore," she told Lars. "Hey, could you do me a favour?"

"Sure, what do you need?" he beamed, happy to hear the news.

"Have a look around your father's room, and if you see anything with the official imperial seal, or anything concerning Thorald Grey-Mane, could you bring it to me? Also, don't tell anyone," she winked, "it's going to be our little secret."

XXX

"No, you're staying in Whiterun," Bernadette waved her hand dismissively, marching towards the door. "It's too dangerous."

"And taking a fort full of Thalmor on your own isn't?!" he almost choked.

"One, I'm not on my own. Two, I know how to make bombs. Three, I'm not as helpless as you think," she hissed at him once he stepped in front of the door so she couldn't leave.

"Bernadette, that's madness! I have some men ready, just let me send the word and we'll go. You don't have to involve yourself any further."

"Ha! I don't have to? I'm already involved! You bloody idiot, you don't have any chance without me!" she snapped. "When was the last time you cleared a den full of daedra suckling warlocks? When was the last time you hacked through a ruin full of draugr? Huh?! I do this pretty often! I have experience, I can kill, and I do kill. Sod it, I managed to tear down an undead dragon priest, for Mara's sake! Thalmor wizards are weaker than _that_."

"I can fight."

"You're a _blacksmith_ , Avulstein," her eyes softened a bit. But not too much. "Not a warrior."

"And you're just one little girl," he sneered.

"No. I'm thane Bearclaw. And you will address me as such."

"Whatever. I'm going whether you are or not. I'm not leaving my brother in there."

"You were leaving him there just fine, unable to do pretty much anything, afraid to crawl out of your room," she cut back at him. He winced. "Fine. We're going, call your men. But I need some time to flirt with my alchemy apparatus, and you ARE giving me that time, because we need the bombs."

She also had to send a note to the jarl of Riften. To let her know she was forwarding Grey-Mane business. Staunch supporters of the Stormcloaks.

XXX

"You didn't have to go," Bernadette said softly. Godric turned his head away from the fire he was starting.

"Well, I wasn't going to go to the barrow on my own," he grinned, "and since you leapt to my help so readily, I felt I should repay the favour."

Bernadette smiled. Then her eyes turned to Avulstein, sitting in the circle of his men, and her smile died.

"I'll take the first watch," she muttered as she got up.

XXX

"Godric? Here, wear this," she gave him some rather unimpressive looking grey clothes. "Put it over your gear. Hide your face. We should kill everyone, but in case that doesn't happen, they can't know your face."

He nodded and started putting the disguise on. She had already covered her own armour.

"Listen carefully. I need you to do the most important part, to set the explosives. And then detonate them at the right time. Try to keep away from the fight, especially from the wizards. Should you spot any of them running, shoot them."

He gulped, then nodded.

"Good. Now to the explosives…"

XXX

"Before we start….why exactly are you doing this?" Avulstein stopped beside her, suspicion clear in his voice. "I didn't think a lapdog like you would do anything to break the precious 'peace' terms."

"Have you ever actually tried to think, Avulstein?" she rolled her eyes. "You are awfully vulnerable to slanders and stereotypes. Do you want to know why I'm doing this? You would, if you actually took time to get to know me, rather than just fuck me. I want peace for Fralia. I also don't want anyone suffering like that. Even if that anyone is your brother, who has never done any good for me."

Avulstein didn't respond.

"Trying new explosives out can't hurt either," she muttered after a while.

He took another step closer and put his hand on her shoulder. "Bernadette-"

She whirled around and swept his hand away aggressively. "Don't you ever dare to touch me again," she bared her teeth at him. "I'm not here because I got blinded by feelings for the second time. And I'm certainly not here to rekindle the flame in your loins. I'm here to help a suffering mother. Nothing. More."

She tossed her head and pulled a scarf over most of her face. "Let's get to it."

XXX

Well, these explosions were rather volatile.

Walls of Northwatch Keep blew up in a spray of bright blue light. Bernadette made a mental note to send the formula to the Master Scribe.

Then she raised her shield and charged into the fray.

XXX

A bolt of lightning hit Avulstein right into the stomach. The man groaned and almost crumpled.

Bernadette roared, leapt forward and bashed the mage with her shield.

XXX

The men Avulstein brought were holding the entrances. He and Bernadette took to assault the inner parts.

A firebolt glazed her. She grinned under her scarf and went after the assailant. She was a Breton. She was born to fight against mages.

She pulled a grenade from her belt and threw it at the elven wizard.

XXX

Avulstein was helping his men fend off the remaining thalmor soldiers.

She went after the interrogator.

He was a good fighter. Fang, her glass dagger, flew away, knocked from her hand. It clanged as it landed on the ground, not far from Bearclaw.

He sneered and blasted Bernadette with a lightning bolt.

She raised her shield. The magic glazed a bit, but she took some damage nonetheless.

"Filthy mongrel," the interrogator sneered again, as he began weaving another spell.

Bernadette growled. She grabbed her shield and charged at the man. She bashed him. The hit made him lose concentration.

She hit again. Then again. And again. She kept screaming like a crazed beast and hitting the elf with her shield.

She stopped when she turned him into a bloody pulp. She stood over the body, heaving, bloodied shield in her hand.

"Are you alright?" a concerned voice asked from behind her.

"That's none of your damn business," she growled at Avulstein over her shoulder. She knelt down and looked through the interrogator's pockets. She pulled a key out. She stood up, collected her weapons and made her way to Thorald, shackled to a wall.

"You there!" he lifted his head. It was more black from bruises than any other colour. "What are you doing?"

Bernadette pulled her scarf down and went to unlock the shackles. Thorald breathed out. "I thought I'd never see a friendly face again!"

Bernadette arched an eyebrow. "I'd never think you'd call me that."

Thorald frowned at her. "I wasn't talking to you, bitch."

Avulstein, having seen Bernadette's onslaught, tried to shush his brother. Bernadette waved her hand dismissively. "I'm not a wild beast, Grey-Mane. I can control myself, restrain from flaying ungrateful skeever-brains."

XXX

Bernadette and Godric watched the small group of men, led by Grey-Mane brothers, leave.

"So...aren't you…"

"No. Avulstein can go lick a mammoth for all I care." Then she turned to him and smiled. "Good work, pup. I'm impressed, you placed all the charges unseen."

"Pup?" he raised an eyebrow. "You can't be much older than me."

"Probably not," she shrugged, "but you have the eyes of a scared puppy. I…" she sighed. "I have the eyes of an experienced killer. Sometimes it scares me," she added softly.

Godric, remembering how she snapped at Avulstein, refrained from touching her. But he bent down and plucked a red mountain flower. He turned and offered it to her.

She smiled, and as she did, her eyes lit up. She took it and tucked it behind her ear.

Godric smiled back. Then his eyes moved to the jackdaw on her shoulder. "There's one thing I wanted to ask...what's with the bird? Are you a witch?"

She laughed. "No, I'm not a witch. I can't do magic. My mother was one, though, and asked this little one to watch over me."

"That's nice of her," Godric's smile grew even warmer. "Now to the barrow?" he inclined his head.

XXX

"What are you drawing?" Godric looked over her shoulder after he made sure that the draugr was definitely dead.

"Oh, I'm just copying these carvings," she pointed to the wall. "Indulge me. I am a scholar. Sometimes on the Dwemer, sometimes on nordic history. Sometimes on alchemy." Her eyes grew distant for a moment. "I haven't thought about stars for a long time….a shame." She shook her head. "Give me just a moment."

He looked over his shoulder again. Did the corpse move? Was it in the same place when he looked the last time? He shivered and shifted closer to Bernadette. Best to stay safe.

XXX

"Shor's bones, am I glad that you agreed to go with me," Godric panted. There were no arrows left in his quiver. "These are….terrifying," she shuddered as he cast another look at a dead draugr, lying at Bernadette's feet.

She smiled at him knowingly. "You'll get used to it."

"I don't want to get used to it!"

XXX

"You can hear chanting from the wall? That is interesting," Bernadette looked up from copying the text. Godric was standing a bit further from it, eyes wide open.

"I also see one of the words glowing," he said and hugged himself.

"Which one?"

He unfolded his arms and pointed towards the wall.

Bernadette rolled her eyes. "That's not helping. Come closer and show me, please."

As he did, pointing his finger, something happened. The glow he was talking about - now she could see it too. It flew from the wall, swirled around him and then entered his body.

Bernadette hurried to catch him as he stumbled.

As she did, she heard a familiar sound. A severely unpleasant sound. The scraping of a stone sarcophagus lid.

XXX

"What happened to me?" Godric asked from behind her. This was the first time he spoke since that wall incident.

"Well," Bernadette pulled Zephyr's reins a little to slow the horse down, "from what I heard, read and found on walls occasionally, you might be a Dragonborn."

"Dragonborn?" he blurted out. "As in THE Dragonborn? The ancient hero of legends? Me?"

She shrugged. As one could shrug while riding a horse with a passenger sitting right behind and holding onto her. "Looks like it."

"But...but…"

"Hey, let it be for now. Now you need to bring the stupid, but extremely interesting, stone to Farengar. Tsk, idiot, he doesn't deserve it. Then you can turn your mind to the whole 'Dragonborn' business."

XXX

A bloody dragon? Someone had to be kidding her.

But no one was. Bernadette was marching with Irileth and her soldiers, although no one asked her to. They wanted Godric to go, since he survived Helgen.

They wanted him to fight a dragon.

Now, she couldn't have that, could she? He'd be dead in an instant. Someone had to protect him.

XXX

The white beast swooped down. It grabbed a soldier and took off again before anyone could get a slash at it.

Bernadette put another bolt into her crossbow. She aimed. And released. The bolt hissed through the air, went right for the dragon and then...bounced off of its scaly hide.

"Zenithar curse you!" she shrieked as she ran away.

A bolt of lightning crackled. Irileth was the only one doing some damage.

The beast flew over them. "YOL-" ir roared and spewed flames. The people scattered, but not fast enough.

Bernadette flung the crossbow on her back. It was no use, steel couldn't penetrate the hide. Not even with the power of the crossbow behind it.

The dragon landed with a thud. It laughed as it hit Godric with its wing, sending him tumbling down. "You are brave. Killing you will be an honor," the beast said in a deep voice as it positioned itself over Godric, desperately trying to crawl away.

It growled and opened its maw.

Bernadette charged right into it, shield raised. She hit the head from the side with all her weight and speed.

The dragon recoiled, screeching angrily.

Bernadette threw something into its open maw, then drew Bearclaw hastily.

"YOL-" flames spurted in its throat. Then it gurgled. BOOM! A blast of green fire right inside its soft throat. The dragon collapsed to the ground, whimpering with pain.

Bernadette ran at it. As it began to lift, she hacked away, hitting the side of its head. The blade made of volcanic glass didn't disappoint. It left a bleeding gash.

"Insolent worm!" the dragon growled hoarsely. "You'll pay!"

Bernadette growled back at it with ferocity of an angry bear and jumped, landing at its head. The dragon shook it in an attempt to get rid of her. She let the shield go and grabbed onto one of the horns. The dragon began thrashing as she started to hack away at its face. Several scales loosened and flew away.

"Zenithar smite you!" Bernadette screamed. The dragon was bleeding from many smaller wounds.

It roared and tossed its head. It threw Bernadette into the air. The dragon unfurled its wings.

Bernadette rotated during her fall. She grabbed Bearclaw with both her hands and pointed it down.

It hit the dragon's shoulder as it was taking off. The blade went in deep. The dragon screeched in pain as the blade slid down through its body, pulled by Bernadette's weight.

She had to let go. She released her grip, hit the ground and rolled few times.

She stood up quickly. The dragon crashed not far from her, since the blade practically sliced its wing off. She looked around frantically. She had no weapons!

Fang was no use. Too small. She darted out of the way of a stream of fire, sticking her hand into one of her enchanted satchels. There had to be something!

Yes! She wrapped her fingers around something of the right shape. As she pulled it out, she couldn't help but give it a thought of surprise, because what she grabbed was the peculiar carved staff. She had forgotten she had it.

The tip looked dangerous, though.

The dragon was upon her, stomping and making the ground beneath its talons shake. It opened its maw, full of teeth as long as Bernadette's dagger.

She pointed the staff upwards as the maw descended upon her.

XXX

"You're alright!" Zura squealed once the door swung open and Bernadette, all bloodied, dirty and a bit scorched, marched through it. Godric followed after her.

"Yea, why shouldn't we be?"

"Honey-eyes, you just returned from fighting a _dragon_ ," Zura reminded her.

"Filthy stinking bag of flames, yes. Now I stink too. Yeesh. Anyway, the dragon is dead. Nothing more to be said. Oh, and we're going with Godric, he needs to get to Ivarstead and then to High Hrothgar...your arm is healed? Good. Have something to eat. I still have some business to take care of," she waved her hand and turned to leave.

"Wait! What about the dragon? I want to hear it!"

"It burned the watchtower. Steel can't get through the hide. Here are some scales and bones," Bernadette dropped a rather heavy bag at the floor after she pulled one bone out, "it speaks, it spews flames, it's dead. End of story."

Marcurio put a hand on Zura's shoulder. "Don't push her. Perhaps our new friend will tell us a tale worth listening?" he looked at Godric. His eyes lit up.

"Sure I will! You should have seen it, she was awesome. She hit it with her shield, and she jumped at it, and then she almost cut its wing off, and then she stabbed it with some spear as it tried to eat her! Ehm, sorry, sorry," he said when he noticed Zura's questioningly raised eyebrow, "I'll start from the beginning."

XXX

Bernadette made her way to Jorrvaskr, still grimy from the dragon fight. She went right in, ignored the fight that was happening and ignored the pointed looks those who noticed her sent her way. She waved at Farkas and, after a quick scan of the main room, went to look downstairs.

Tilma, the keeper of the mead hall, smiled at her warmly. "Looking for Vilkas, dear?"

Bernadette nodded and smiled back. She continued through the hallway, hearing muffled voices coming from the harbinger's room.

"...the call of blood."

That was certainly Vilkas' voice.

"We all do. It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome."

"You have my brother and I, obviously. But I don't know if the rest will go along quite so easily."

"Leave that to me."

Bernadette stomped right in. "I have a bone to pick with you," she pointed the dragon bone at Vilkas, "and this time you're going to listen!" Then she looked at the harbinger. "Ehm, excuse me, harbinger. If I may?"

He smiled. "You may."

She turned back to Vilkas. "Look, I know you have some rough stuff to deal with. Don't know what it is, Farkas said only as much. I know I didn't behave like I probably should have. But. But friends don't just turn into strangers without a single word. It shouldn't be like that. After some time of giving you space, I asked about you, I pleaded Farkas to go to you and get you to write something in the letters we keep exchanging. You never did. I know I ran away. Not because of you. Well, partially. But I'm trying to fix my mistakes. And I want to know how it's going to be between us. Because I don't want to just fumble in the darkness. If you hate me so much you can't even stand to look at me, then sodding say it!"

He blinked.

"That's all? Not even a word?" she scoffed in disbelief. "Well, fine, I get it." She tossed the bone at him and turned on her heel.

He stood up. "I don't owe you an explanation," he said hoarsely. "My life is my own."

"I think you do," she stopped and grumbled over her shoulder. "It doesn't have to do anything with your stuff. Of course I'd like to hear you out and try to help. I can't, evidently. But you owe me at least an explanation about the turn of our friendship. Because that's you. One day I came back and you wouldn't speak to me."

She turned around fully and looked at him. "I still want to play board games with you. I want to listen to your complaints, and I want to talk about books and history and stuff. If you don't, I can respect that. Just tell me, so I know where I stand," she trailed off.

"Leave me be. I need to deal with...I need to deal with something," he rasped. "I will hold on to that set of Rascals on the Waterfront, though," he added with a hint of plea to his voice.

Bernadette raised her hand, as if to touch his shoulder. She didn't, though. She let it fall down gloomily. "Farkas knows where to find me," she said instead, giving him a wisp of a smile. Then she left. As she stormed through the hall, she didn't even notice two new female whelps watching her curiously.

One of them had glowing red eyes.

26


	9. Chapter 9

**Merethic Era, Solstheim**

The earth rumbled. Miraak put his hands on the cold surface of the Earth stone and rested his forehead above them, searching for a connection.

He heard a faint echo of a song. It was severely out of tune.

He began humming it, slowly trying to get the right tune. A bit by bit, he started to understand the wordless melody. Once he did, he joined the song fully, singing aloud.

XXX

Geda looked up.

"What is the matter, sister?" an older woman with sly eyes and greying brown hair asked her. She was kneeling on the ground, putting a foundation of a trap there.

"I thought I heard something...his voice. From the stone beneath our feet."

The woman shrugged. "There is only one song _I_ can hear. And you should focus on it, too. Don't you want to protect your precious man? You should teach him to sing the same tune…"

Geda swallowed, then nodded solemnly. She crouched by the woman, to help her with building the trap. As she did, the woman began to hum an eerie tune. It was the one the black book deep below their feet was singing.

Geda joined her.

XXX

Miraak stopped on the edge of the settlement. There were still large chunks of ice protruding out of….everything. There were frozen puddles and surfaces. Even though it was still winter and cold ruled the land, this place was crisp with it.

Several frozen bodies were scattered here and there. Miraak stopped by a child, frozen while huddling and crying. He touched the ice with a trembling hand.

He gritted his teeth. "What about the sanctuary?" he turned to warlord Ragni.

"Survived. Most of them got there in time."

Miraak breathed out. "Good." He began pacing. "I need to find that bastard."

XXX

The spell led him to a mountain situated in Snow elf territory. Miraak landed in the middle of what appeared to be a dragon lair in construction.

He looked around, examining his surroundings carefully. The beast was not there. But its garbage was. Bloodied bones. Mostly animal, but human ones as well. Half-eaten carcasses. A rather nice set of armour, clearly elven made.

So the beast attacked elves, too. He probably liked to fight. Maybe all of them did. If only there was a way to use that in their favour.

Miraak lowered himself to sit on a fairly clean rock and looked into the sky thoughtfully. Maybe…

XXX

"GOL HAH DOV!"

The swirl of colours engulfed the serpentine dragon. It reared, trying to fight the effect.

Miraak, pointing the staff right at the dragon's throat, took several steps closer and intensified his focus. The dragon shook his head wildly.

Much like with Dukaan, this was a battle of wills.

One Miraak intended to win.

XXX

"Dragooooon!"

"Get inside! Hurry, hurry!"

"Archers!"

"Wait!" Geda's curt voice cut through the chaos. "Is that...is that a rider?"

The soldiers on the battlements looked up.

The dragon was nearing them fast. And as he did, they could see that there indeed was a figure sitting on his back.

The dragon flew right over the Temple. It roared loudly, then took an elegant turn and began to circle down to the courtyard slowly. Everyone could see Miraak, sitting on the dragon's back, holding his staff tight and his head high. His robe and black hair, unbraided, flowed with the wind.

The dragon landed with a thud. Miraak almost slipped off of his back, but he managed to catch himself, though barely. The dragon then lowered his body as close to the ground as he could. Miraak threw both his legs on one side of the scaly neck and, very carefully, slid down.

A rather large crowd gathered on the courtyard by now, gasping and murmuring.

Geda shoved several people out of her way and hurried to Miraak. She barely stopped herself from jumping him in front of everyone.

The dragon eyed her suspiciously, but since Miraak was relaxed in her presence, he only grunted and turned to watching the crowd.

"What...what is this? What happened?" Geda asked and motioned towards the dragon.

Miraak chuckled. "I bent his will to mine," he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. The murmurs died out, the people listening to his voice expectantly. "He is no longer a threat. His will belongs to me only. The dragon will serve our cause for freedom."

He walked over to the dragon's head. "Sahrotaar," he addressed the beast and patted his snout, "I want you to patrol the border for now. If you see any of your kind, be sure to notify me. Even better, lead them to a lair and then tell me where to find them."

"Your will be done, thuri," Sahrotaar grumbled. He reared and took to the sky.

Miraak motioned for his approaching advisors to follow to the inside of the hall. Then he offered his arm to Geda. She gladly accepted. As the crowd dispersed and they walked to the hall, arms linked, warlord Ragni joined them.

"Do you think it's wise, my lord?"

"I'm sure of it. Once he had bent, I entered his mind to secure his allegiance more tightly."

His eyes darkened as he was saying it. Ragni couldn't see that, but she did hear the slight change of his tone and noticed how he squared his shoulders. She fell three steps behind and didn't inquire further.

XXX

"Everyone calm down," Miraak turned to the villagers. "They won't hurt you. They are here to fight the dragon army. I know many of you suffered from man-beasts. These people here," he motioned towards the opened cages, where several huge men covered, afraid to step out, "are not man-beasts of the Huntsman. They are followers of the Old one, a protector of this land. They have no inherent bloodlust. They are in control of their every action."

The crowd murmured. It was true that the men didn't change after they captured them. And went rather meekly to the cages.

Miraak reached his hand to one of the men, still shivering and eyeing the crowd suspiciously. "Don't worry. You have nothing to fear here."

The man looked at the priest. Then he looked at a white haired figure, standing on the edge of the crowd. She nodded.

The man took Miraak's hand and let him lead him out of the cage.

XXX

"It's nice to see someone upholding their promises," the oldest sister said from the doorframe.

"A man is as good as his word," Miraak murmured as he went through a report. He lifted his eyes from the parchment. "Your people are welcome amongst us, as long as they keep the law."

The wyrd woman nodded and smiled. "They will, Miraak. This is all new to them, so it will take some getting used to. Not the upholding the law part. Being around other people."

"I'm sure they'll get the gist of it," Miraak smiled. "Thank you for the report."

She chuckled. "Thank you for being honest and truthful." And with that she turned to leave.

XXX

Miraak, sitting on Sahrotaar's back, looked down. Everything seemed in order.

"Good. You two," he shouted at two other dragons whose will he had bent, "take to the border. Watch the water for ships. The army is almost here."

They roared and flew away.

Miraak patted Sahrotaar on the neck. "Let's have a look at the army."

"Yes, thuri."

XXX

Geda wandered into Miraak's room. It was small, a bit further from the barracks. She sighed. She missed their bedroom from the temple. Living in a stronghold wasn't to her tastes.

Miraak was sitting on the edge of their bed, looking out of the window slit distantly.

"What are you thinking about?" she said in a low voice and sat down beside him. She reached for his braid and began to undo it.

"Hm?" he looked to her, still a bit lost in thought. "Oh. The battle. They are bound to arrive tomorrow." He sighed. "There are no dragons. It's….unsettling."

"Maybe they want to wait what happens, so they don't have to do anything strenuous?" she finished undoing the braid and fluffed his hair a bit. Then she buried her hands in it.

He leaned back, laying his head on her shoulder. "I highly doubt that. But I suspect there is some sort of devious plan. Maybe to weaken us, then to get my head?"

Geda shivered and wrapped her arms around him. "Do not speak of such dark matters, love."

He looked up at her. "We're not going to evade it. They are coming."

"I know," she caressed him. "But I don't want to think about it right now."

"And what do you want?" he hummed.

"You," she breathed against his skin. "I want you to live through all of this. I want you to be mine again," she nipped at the sensitive spots on his neck she knew so well.

XXX

"Don't leave yet," she heaved, wrapping her legs tighter around him. He breathed out and lowered himself back onto her.

"I must be heavy," he whispered into her ear. She caressed his back, feeling the scars gently.

"Not that much," her hands slipped to his hips after a while. "You've put on some weight and muscles, but you're still too thin," she murmured with disapproval.

He hummed. Geda kept caressing his back.

After some time she released her grip. He kissed her, then lifted himself and laid down beside her. She huddled close to him and began drawing circles on his chest, enjoying the feeling of his chest hair tickling her fingers.

"I've been working on securing the Temple," she commented. "I've set traps. There's also a secret passage out." She didn't mention the obviously sprawling influence of Herma-Mora's cult. He didn't need to know that….yet.

"And...I've been practicing. I will be useful in the battle."

He kissed her shoulder gently.

She put her hand on his stomach protectively. "Miraak, tell me, would you accept something powerful, but dangerous, to protect your fam….your people?"

He chuckled. "I already have, haven't I?"

"So...if I came to you, in a possible hour of need…"

He kissed her on the nose. "I trust you. If you have some backdoor prepared for trouble, don't hesitate to tell me about it when the trouble comes. I'll do anything."

XXX

They were here. Hundreds and hundreds of men.

The sounds coming from the forest indicated that part of the army tried to go through Hirstaang. And met timely fate at the end of Old one's shape shifters' claws.

Geda raised her gaze. Their three dragons were circling above the stronghold. Miraak was riding Sahrotaar, stirring the clouds with his staff.

She rested her hands on her stomach as a warhorn resounded over the battlefield. The soldiers began to march forward.

She scanned the crowd. Priests and their thu'um were bound to be there.

There. Found one. She raised her hands and began chanting. Someone shouted, coordinating their archers to fire. Bowstrings singed, arrows flew. Geda lowered her hands as a murder of crows descended upon the priest she identified.

She put her hands back on her stomach and continued her search.

XXX

"STRUN BAH QO!"

The clouds blackened and released first bolts of lightning. A brilliant flash. Rolling thunder. Rolling thunder and the roar of heavy curtain of water, hurtling down from the clouds.

Sahrotaar swooped down. "FO KRAH DIIN!" he sprayed a blast of freezing death on the warriors below.

Miraak angled his staff down. It released another stream of lightning, sizzling and crackling, staying on the ground, releasing electrical energy into anyone who dared to step on it.

Rolling thunder. Cawing of crows.

"FUS RO DAH!" a blast of forcewave hit the main gate. A murder of black birds engulfed the man a second later.

XXX

Dragons came the next day.

Their wings were so numerous they blocked out the sky.

Fire.

Scorching fire.

A brewing storm, blasts of lightning.

So much blood.

The stronghold has fallen.

XXX

The dragon dropped from the sky, screeching desperately. Miraak huffed and lowered his staff.

"RETREAT!" he bellowed at his warriors. They needed to make it to the next fortress as soon as possible. It was much better suited to make a stand against dragons.

The dragon's soul found him. He groaned. He clenched his fists, trying to maintain focus. When the battle of wills ended, he gasped for air desperately.

XXX

Three dragon skeletons lay in front of the fortress.

Numerous bloodied bodies of men beside them.

Miraak was limping on the ramparts, doing his best to repair the damage the dragons caused.

XXX

Geda kept biting her lip. Miraak was asleep beside her, curled in their blanket. She shouldn't do it...not without his agreement.

But…

She feared he wouldn't accept, even though he said he would.

She looked at the circles under his eyes. They were so startlingly dark against his pale skin. And the bruises….there were bruises all over his body. Gashes, not yet healed, since he refused healing in order to keep as many warriors alive as possible.

Stupid stubborn man.

She caressed her stomach. She was sure of it now, she didn't get her monthly bleeding twice in a row.

He had to survive. He had to.

She touched his temples gently with the tips of her fingers. And she began to whisper an eerie mantra in the language of demons, or rather daedra, as her mentor rectified her, sending slivers of energy through her fingers.

Miraak's brows furrowed in his sleep. As she continued her whispering, he began to shiver, his face straining as if in pain.

XXX

She watched from the battlements. Miraak was wreaking havoc from Sahrotaar's back, erasing scores of warriors with a tornado he summoned. The dragon was trying to keep his rider out of reach of other dragons, angrily pursuing them.

She closed her eyes and began chanting. A black cloud of crows, viciously cawing, lifted from the branches of Hirstaang, and assaulted the dragons.

XXX

The warriors were waiting under the fortress, protected by magical domes summoned by the priests.

Miraak kept pacing in the circle of his four dragons.

"What are they up to?" he wondered.

"Maybe they're preparing to assault our settlements," Ragni commented. "To draw you out, lord."

"That is probable, yes," he sighed. "What do we do about it, Ragni? I need your advice."

"You have to stay here, lord. We won't hold the fortress without your spells, not against so many of them. But perhaps you could contact the wyrd women and their...charges...to defend the settlements."

"That will leave Hirstaang unprotected."

Ragni shrugged. "But the settlements will be safe."

XXX

A loud scream of pain pierced the storm of early spring.

Miraak fell off of Sahrotaar's back as an arrow buried itself in his shoulder. The dragon screeched and folded his wings to dive for Miraak, plummeting down.

Sahrotaar's talons closed around Miraak. The dragon unfurled his wings, barely avoiding collision with the ground. He roared in exertion as he kept ascending, beating his wings heavily.

The priests on the ground, seeing that onslaught of Miraak's magic has ended, renewed their effort to break the fortress.

XXX

The army was retreating through slopes of watery snow. The four dragons were circling above, keeping the sorry remains of the army in relative safety.

Ragni, carrying Miraak on her back, huffed. The arrow was poisoned. His body was trying to fight it, but he was too weak. Feverish. Barely conscious.

They needed to get him to lady Geda, who withdrew to the Temple. Their last sanctuary.

She looked at the coast. At least that the people began evacuating via ships they had stolen from their enemies earlier during the war.

There were still many places on the mainland, far away from everything, to house the refugees. Distant valleys, lost forests. Safe sanctuaries for small groups of people.

Ragni sighed and resumed walking. She hoped Angma was right and that these distant, reclusive places would indeed provide safe homes.

XXX

Lady Geda was sitting by the bed and slowly making lord Miraak drink a potion she had brewed.

Ragni frowned. The sorceress was wearing very loose robes. She also had...strange...eyes. They were still green. But...there was an odd light to them. As if veins of faintly lighter colour swirled in her irises sometimes.

It made the warlord shiver.

XXX

"The army is approaching….there's even more of them, their reinforcements have come," Ragni commented. She tapped on the map, laid out on the war table in the main hall. "They have camps here, here and here. No dragons for now, but we're sure some of the mare roosting in the mountains around this area."

Miraak, leaning onto Geda, looked at the map. He was gaunt. He had dark circles under his eyes and his skin got that unhealthy shade of grey.

"Must be every able-bodied warrior from the mainland." He chuckled darkly. "How happy Felldir must be. He can assemble his own rebellion in safety." His eyes darted across the map. "There are three more settlements to send to the sea, is that correct?"

"Yes, lord."

"Good. Ragni, take your warriors. Make sure the people make it to the mainland."

Both Geda and Ragni snapped up and looked at Miraak with horrified surprise.

"My lord…"

"No!" Geda shrieked. "You're not staying here alone, Miraak! You're getting to safety too."

"They want my head. Have you seen the priest leading them? He must be a dragon priest. An executioner." He tried to straighten his posture and failed to do so. "I still have some fight left in me. I can summon demons to hold them down while you set sail."

"No, Miraak, we still can-"

"Shush, love. We lost. Can't you see it?" he looked at her with great sadness in his eyes. "The least I can do is do everything to get the people to safety. I don't believe the dragons will win in the end. But to get there, there must be warriors and priests who have fire in their hearts."

One of the wyrd sisters, the oldest one, leaned over to her younger siblings to whisper something into her ear. The two nodded.

"Miraak," the oldest one took a step forward, "we would send some of our own with your ships."

He nodded.

"But I'm staying," she set her staff down firmly. "I and some of the most ferocious of the devoted. We will bloody the snow."

XXX

"I'm not leaving you!" Geda screamed at him. He rubbed his temples and sighed. He was so tired…

"You are."

"No."

They looked at each other sternly for a long time. But Geda moved her gaze sideways in the end and put her hands on her stomach.

"Come. I need to show you something."

XXX

"A Black Book? Geda!"

He was horrified.

"Yes. And traps. This sanctuary will keep you safe. You only need to open the book and accept the gift it offers!"

He lowered himself to sit on a piece of rock lying about. "The gift comes at a price, Geda…"

"But it will save your life!" She knelt before him, looking up at him, and took his hands into her own. "Please, Miraak. I beg you. I…you must survive. I can't lose you. There...there are some who need you desperately."

He huffed. "I can make my escape. Only one man? Easy to lose track of."

"Not for them. They will find you as easily as you found Sahrotaar."

Both of them looked at the book.

Miraak sighed. He caressed Geda's cheek and slowly rose to his feet. Then he took the few steps he needed to reach the book.

XXX

The Temple was strangely eerie. Quiet.

Vahlok looked around. No signs of the four dragons wiped clean by Miraak. No signs of remaining warriors. No signs of Miraak.

"He's up to something," the priest growled.

A bronze dragon, perched on a rock beside Vahlok, snarled. "We are razing the Temple."

Vahlok flinched.

"Blasphemy. To erect bones of our brethren in such mockery? An example has to be made." And with that the dragon flapped his wings. Others roared and joined him.

Vahlok shook his head.

He knew Miraak. He knew that man so well. There was Oblivion waiting for the dragons.

XXX

Twenty-one.

He tore twenty-one dragons down in front of their very eyes. He devoured their souls and now he was standing on the battlements, his four dragons perched by his side, watching them.

Waiting.

Vahlok cursed under his breath. Those were all of the dragons that agreed to come. He only had warriors and priests at his command now.

But that damned proud sod must be exhausted now.

He turned to a warlord standing by his side.

"Sound the horn."

XXX

Magic domes protected the warriors from dragonfire.

But not from the traps within the Temple.

XXX

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Crack. The entry door hit the wall loudly.

The main hall.

His dragons were still circling over the warriors, spewing flames at the protective dome.

"Chase them away," Vahlok motioned to the sky with his sword made of the golden draconic metal. "You and your warriors, with me," he divided a company of warriors from the others and sent them through the door.

There was a strange purplish glow coming from inside…

As the first of the warriors set foot into the hall, it erupted in purple light. Vahlok felt reality fray at its seams. So many doorways opened.

"I smell weakness!" a huge dremora snarled hungrily and swung at the warrior.

XXX

Well, the dremoras and atronachs have been dealt with. Vahlok surveyed his dead. Scores of them. Piled on the floor, blood everywhere.

It stank.

He wrinkled his nose and looked outside.

The dragons were gone. So was half of his remaining troops. "Let's go!" he ordered.

XXX

This time the light was sickly green.

And the monsters so horrifying...several companies scattered at the sight of lumbering giants with hideous fish heads full of sharp teeth, spewing writhing masses of tentacles at them. Who withstood these, ran from the ragged tentacled creatures with bony arms and toothy maws on their stomach. Their magic made the air vibrate and sucked strength out of men's bodies.

Vahlok pushed on.

XXX

Soldierless, he arrived at the highest tower.

He found a thin, hunched figure waiting for him. The wind was whistling around them, trying to tear their robes away.

"Miraak."

"Leoferic."

"It's Vahlok now."

Miraak chuckled. "And where's the mask to go with it?"

Vahlok growled. "I will have yours, don't you worry."

"You really think so?" Miraak leaned on his staff, his voice a bit raspy. "They assigned a name to you, without a mask, and you believe you'll get to change it? You know what your name means, don't you?"

Vahlok remained silent.

"And now you came here, little loyal boy, playing soldiers for the dragons. What do you expect in return for my corpse? Power? They won't give it to you. They will discard you, at best. Is this what you wanted?"

"It should have been different!" Vahlok screamed. "I should have been chosen! And you were supposed to stand by me!"

"Is that why you became a friend to me so readily?"

"A mistake, I see." Vahlok raised his sword and a dagger, both made from the enigmatic metal. "I didn't get a mask, but I got these. Just for you."

XXX

The skies swelled with clouds. The earth rumbled. Winds roared more fiercely than the dragons themselves, and fire begun to rain down.

Geda watched as the storm, covering most of central Solstheim, parted forcefully and a fiery blast came down from the sky.

The sea was wild. Giant waves threatened to sink their ship, the last one to leave.

"Lady Geda!" the captain cried out to her. "Can you do something? We'll drown if the sea remains like this!"

She began to chant a mantra Miraak had taught her, tears streaming down her face.

XXX

After two days of sailing the ship arrived to the vicinity of the land bridge.

Geda looked back.

The rumbling of earth grew much louder. She even could see the mountains move in the distance. The storm was still covering the sky over Solstheim, spewing snow and lightning.

They were still at it.

Suddenly a loud sound resounded. It reminded her of stone scraping against stone, screeching and groaning. Loud cracking. And then…

The landbridge broke. Huge chunks of dirt and stone moved up, rose from the waves like jagged teeth of the earth. Others went down, submerging beneath the ocean. Everything was shaking and rumbling. The salty water began to rush towards the crack in the earth, widening with every heartbeat.

Another pillar of stone rose from the water, almost impaling their ship.

Geda raised her arms and called all her magicka.

XXX

Miraak screamed in pain and stumbled back. His spiritual dragon form, protecting him up until now, faded. Vahlok smiled. There was now a crack in Miraak's mask, leading askew across his lips.

"You're dead now, slave." Vahlok lunged forward again. Miraak deflected the sword with his staff. The dagger bit deep into the mask, cutting through the left eye. Miraak screamed again. As the scream echoed through the air, a bolt of lightning came down from the sky. It landed not far from Vahlok.

"Missed."

Miraak backed few steps away. His breathing was haggard, his legs trembling. He felt blood trail down his face. He tried to reach for his magicka. The pool was empty.

Vahlok neared him slowly, enjoying the evident helplessness.

They clashed.

Miraak heaved in pain. He looked down. While he had blocked the sword, the dagger….the dagger was buried in his stomach.

Vahlok grinned. He began to pull the dagger out slowly, enjoying the tiny sounds of pain escaping Miraak's lips.

Miraak lost grip on his staff. It clanked as it landed on the cold stone beneath their feet. When Vahlok pulled the dagger out, Miraak crumpled to the ground.

"And now...die," Vahlok rested the tip of the sword over Miraak's heart.

No. Not like this! Miraak took a deep breath. As his lips formed the familiar shout, something changed. A hum vibrated through his body. It filled him whole. When he opened his mouth, a wail, a terrible, horrifying eldritch scream came out of him instead of his own voice. It came with a spurt of tentacled mass of slimy matter, falling out of his mouth.

He kept screaming, horrified and sickened by what was happening. But it wouldn't stop. Instead the reality tethered behind him. Tentacles wound around his body. And yanked him away.

He was suddenly naked. Flying through a tunnel of sickly green light, swirling around him. The tentacles wrapped around him very tensely, not letting him move. One found its way to the wound in his stomach, and enterd. He screamed in agony. It was worse than dragonfire. It burned and froze at the same time. It itched. It bit and pricked, as if he had salt in the wound, salt and thorns. He felt the wound healing, but it was not the warm, comforting sensation of healing magic.

Another tentacle violated his wounded eye. It went right in, causing him even more intense pain, writhing around in the socket.

He screamed and screamed.

And then it ended. He landed on a cold, metallic surface. Cloth wrapped around him immediately and something metallic nestled on his face. He clawed at it, shrieking still. It was a mask, similar to his own.

It didn't go off.

He opened his eyes.

The world...wasn't the world. He was in a place reminding him of the forbidden library of Saering's Watch. Only this place had no boundaries. There were endless metallic structures, piles of books and scrolls, whole walls and sky high pillars of them! Sickly dark green water writhing with tentacles swirled under his feet and a net of pulsing green lines whirled in the sky.

Something was wrong with him as well. He wasn't sure if it was the trait of the demonic realm or...the world seemed as if it lost depth. He blinked. Then he tried to close his left eye, still hurting. Nothing changed. He opened it and closed his right eye. Darkness.

Panicking, he tried to touch his face. His fingers, now clad in mousy brown gauntlets, found cold metal of a mask instead. He frantically tried to pry away the cloth of his new robes to have a look at the wound on his stomach instead, but it wouldn't budge.

Half-blind, crippled, violated, imprisoned in a mask and lost in Oblivion.

He screamed desperately, his voice echoing in the strangely quiet realm where the loudest sound seemed to be the whispering of papers fluttering in a non-existent wind.

XXX

 **4E 201, the Rift**

"So, this is Ivarstead," Bernadette commented. "The Seven Thousand Steps start over there."

Godric's gaze followed her pointing finger. Then he lifted his gaze up, to the Throat of the World. He gulped. "I never actually thought I would be climbing that."

Marcurio chuckled. "It's very awe inspiring, is it not? Up until the moment you have to climb to the top...well, enjoy the trip, you two," he swung his legs over the saddle and dismounted.

"What, you're not coming?" Bernadette followed his example.

"Oh please. Can you imagine our little Zura climbing that thing?" Marcurio put his hands on his hips.

"I'm not climbing, Dette. Screw all inspiration," Zura slowly stumbled down the saddle. "I almost froze to death on Haemar's Shame. I'm not going to...no, just no. Sorry."

"Ah well. It's alright. At least you two will have some privacy," Bernadette tossed Zephyr's reins to Marcurio and winked at him.

"Wait, what? What on Nirn are you imploring?" Zura narrowed her eyes at the Breton. Marcurio flashed a smile.

"Well, let's go, pup," Bernadette nudged Godric towards the bridge. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we get back down here to have some ale."

XXX

Yeah. _Be sure to look out for wolves_ , they said.

Damn them thrice!

Bernadette thanked Zenithar that she brought some fire oil with her. As Godric fired arrow after arrow at the troll, she poured the oil on Bearclaw.

She hated fighting trolls.

XXX

A whole bloody day.

Maybe she should be glad the journey didn't take more time. She dropped Klimmek's supplies into the chest at the foot of the staircase, then pulled Godric up the stairs to the heavy metallic door.

XXX

The Greybeards ignored her. Profusely. As expected. So she decided to write everything down. _Everything_.

XXX

Zura's voice was coming out of the tavern. Bernadette smiled. She hardly had any energy left, but Zura's voice was always welcome.

"Come on," she nudged Godric again and set out to surmount the three steps leading to the tavern.

"I can't move my legs anymore," he groaned.

There was someone playing a lute to accompany Zura's singing. Probably Wilhelm's ward, Lynly. Bernadette turned back, wrapped her arm around Godric's waist and pulled him alongside her. "Almost there."

The tavern was warm and welcoming. Bernadette, invigorated by the thought of warm food, tightened her grip on Godric and dragged them both to the bar.

"Had a nice trip?" Wilhelm smiled.

"Sure, sure. Could we have a nice dinner now?" she smiled.

As they ate delicious beef stew, Bernadette let her mind wander and listened to Zura's song.

" _...neath the cold white snow, you will never know, you will never know, what wonders hide in the land where cold winds blow, cold winds blow…_."

XXX

"Where to next?"

"Well...I need to go to Ustengrav, to get-"

"The horn of Jurgen Windcaller!" Bernadette cut in. "The actual horn of the actual Jurgen Windcaller! Can you imagine? Such artifact!"

Zura frowned. "That is way north, am I not mistaken?"

Marcurio nodded. "You're not mistaken. In Hjaalmarch. On the edge of a swamp. One of the few well documented ruins. But no one got into the sanctum."

"I don't want to go north," Zura whined as she mounted her horse.

"Well, you can stay in Riften," Bernadette offered.

"Alone? Nope," the Khajiit turned her nose up. "I'm going, and I'm going to be such a pain in the ass, darling, count on that."

Bernadette groaned. "Great. Let's get home, unload, and possibly get a blessing to leave from the jarl…"

XXX

At least the jarl wasn't angry. She actually congratulated Bernadette on helping the Grey-Manes. Then she pried for information about Whiterun. And in the end she allowed Bernadette to go for the horn with Godric.

XXX

"Such a big house!" Godric's eyes widened in awe. "And so strange. What is that? And this? And-"

"How about I give you a tour after dinner?"

"Sure!"

XXX

Bernadette laid the loot from the strange tomb out on one of the tables in her workshop. She took great care to straighten and smooth out the remnants of the robe carefully, then she put the scales over it.

She placed the mask next to the robe, then the amulet and wolfskin cloak. Last, but not least, she put the staff on the table.

She pulled out her tools. Time to examine it all properly.

XXX

"That looks like a priest to the Wolf-Mother used that," Godric commented from over her shoulder. Bernadette tensed, since, being to consumed in her observations, she didn't hear him approach.

"Yes, I thought that too," she said after she calmed down. "But I find it rather odd. It has no spells stored in it. And it is made of ebony and...something icy. Cold as death," she touched the glistening tip. "I wonder who it was. It seems to date from the time of the Dragon Cult's reign...must have been rebellious and awfully courageous to swear one's allegiances to another god."

Godric smirked. "Seems like you have a growing admiration for a dead man."

She shrugged. "Why not. You, as a Nord, should understand that. Tiber Septim is also dead, if you haven't noticed."

"That's different," he argued. "He ascen-" he suddenly shut his mouth and turned his eyes away. "Sorry, I...please, don't tell anyone."

"I won't. Don't worry," she squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

He allowed himself a guarded smile. Then he turned his eyes back to the items on the table.

"The mask seems like one a dragon priest would wear," Bernadette commented, "but, as you said, the rest suggests the person was not awfully fond of dragons."

"Something the dead man and I share," he frowned. He sat down on a spare chair next to her. "I wonder...grandma used to tell stories. She always told us about her hunting days, and of the old gods, before the N...Eight, and when she started with those, she slipped to legends of warlords of old. Of the Dragon war. I mean, everyone loves a good story about Ysgramor, but I liked those better. I also remember her mentioning something about Solstheim. That it used to be connected to Skyrim and that a battle of two priests broke it off."

Bernadette pulled a notebook out from a pile of scrolls and began putting his words down.

"She used to say that one of them was evil, the other good. I also remember her telling tales of a dragon rider, bending the will of those beasts, or something like that," he smiled as he went deeper into his memories. "I haven't heard that legend anywhere else, though, so she might have embellished that a bit. I mean, who could actually ride a dragon?"

Bernadette put her quill down. "Perhaps a wolf priest? Fighting for freedom?"

"Perhaps."

"Where are you from, Godric?"

"What?"

"I'd like to go ask your grandmother to tell me those stories," she smiled.

"Oh. That interesting?" he chuckled. "Right, right. There's a small village on the border of Falkreath and the Reach. Solveig's Stead, but people often call the place Nettlestead. The forests are full of those foul things in the summer, take my word. Do you have a map? I'll show you…"

XXX

Not long after they set out of Riften the following day, two rather odd looking figures approached. Masked, dressed in strange robes. The masks were rather grotesque, reminiscent of a tentacled skull, and had no holes for eyes.

And yet, the figures went straight for Godric.

"You there!" a coarse voice called out, "You're the one they call 'Dragonborn?'"

"Yes?"

The figures turned hostile all of a sudden. "Your lies fall on deaf ears, Deceiver. The true Dragonborn comes...you are but his shadow." And with that Godric got blasted with a fireball.

"When lord Miraak appears, all shall bear witness! None shall stand to oppose him!"

Bernadette shoved Godric out of the way. She stepped to the side to shield him and took a hit by a lightning bolt.

Whiz!

Marcurio shot a firebolt at the assailants.

Zura drew back, trying to hold on to the horses. The animals were snorting, tossing their heads and fighting the pull on their reins in attempt to flee. Except Zephyr, who had been trained for combat.

Bernadette slid her shield down from her back and raised it just in time to catch another spell. Then a dagger hit her side. It cut her tabard, but nothing more.

She bashed the attacker with her shield.

A gust of freezing wind passed by her, hitting one of the figures. "Nice aim, Marc!" she shouted over her shoulder.

XXX

"Well, your name specifically. It's right here, on the note," Bernadette tapped the tattered piece of paper she had salvaged from one of the masked assailants.

"And all the globbery about the Dragonborn?" Marcurio chipped in. "It doesn't make any sense. They're Dunmer. Dunmer don't care shit about Dragonborn."

"They won't leave us alone, will they?" Zura sighed.

"Probably not. They have Godric's name and very specific instructions. But, luckily for us, there's also the name of the ship they took to get here. And the bit about Solstheim. It would appear we're going on a trip to a forgotten land to resolve a murder mystery."

XXX

"You're out of luck. I'm not going back there."

Great. So first they had to leave their horses with the altmeri stable master, then they had a charming tour through Windhelm, and finally, when they found the right ship, the captain didn't want to go!

"Why not?" Bernadette grumbled.

"It's...hard to explain. I remember those people with the masks coming on board, then...next thing I remember, I was here and they were gone. That's not right, losing whole days like that."

"You know what's also not right? Setting assassins in the world! They attacked us, and I'm taking some heads. You owe me the trip to Solstheim, since you brought those arseholes here. I'll even sodding pay you double! Or maybe I should take your-"

"We'll pay double," Zura rushed in and put her hand over Bernadette's mouth. "Please. We desperately need to get there to resolve this unpleasant business."

He sighed. "Maybe...you're right. I owe you the trip. Maybe you can also put an end to what's happening over there. Bring them payback for stealing days from honest people."

XXX

Bernadette and Zura were standing at the front of the ship, watching the ocean and letting the salty winds blow through their hair. Marcurio and Godric, on the other hand, remained curled in the center of the ship, trying to keep their upset stomachs from vomiting.

As Skyrim grew ever smaller, an another landmass on the horizon before them grew bigger and bigger.

Solstheim.

 **XXX**

 **So that's it for book 1. Book 2 is out now. I kinda forgot to update this comment so it wouldn't seem I'm still writing book 2...sorry :)**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it ;)**


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